


An Old Hello And a New Goodbye

by misha_collins_butt



Series: And the Stars Will Fade and the Moon Will Fall but Please Stay With Me Tonight [1]
Category: Supernatural, sabriel - Fandom, small mention of Samstiel/Sastiel
Genre: AU, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gabriel & Sam Winchester - Freeform, Gabriel Novak & Sam Winchester, Gabriel Novak - Freeform, Gabriel Novak/Sam Winchester - Freeform, Honeymoon, M/M, Sabriel - Freeform, Sabriel Fluff, Sabriel marriage, Sam Winchester & Gabriel - Freeform, Sam Winchester & Gabriel Novak, Sam Winchester - Freeform, Sam Winchester/Gabriel Novak - Freeform, Smut, Stripper!Gabe, Tumblr, don't know what else to put, kinda megstiel, lawyer!Sam, porn with a plot, sabriel honeymoon, sabriel smut, vacaions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-29 23:19:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 35,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3914407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misha_collins_butt/pseuds/misha_collins_butt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is 22, and he's been with Brady since he was 19. And nothing good has come out of it. But then he meets a strange man with beautiful eyes and honey gold hair - and a pretty nice ass - whose name is Gabriel. He's 25 and he's not a care in the world. And maybe good things will come out of this, instead. Warning: could contain triggering emotions, powerful events, and definitely contains instances and passing mentions of alcoholism and anorexia. Read at your own risk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Out With the Old

**Author's Note:**

> ❌❌RECOMMENDED MUSIC FOR READING THIS: look up Pandora Journey on YouTube. Any of the songs she has work. They're. So. Emotionally. Amazing. Thank you.❌❌
> 
> Okay, note. So, um. I actually wrote this and forgot to post it like a month ago, BEFORE I read 'Twist and Shout'. So, yes, I do realise this is a lot like 'Twist and Shout'. And no, I did not steal the idea or rip it off. I'm not claiming the authors of 'Twist and Shout' ripped this off either. How could they, they've never seen this. I'm just warning, please don't accuse me of stealing the concept of 'Twist and Shout'. I actually started this a few weeks before I read it, so. Thanks.

"Babe, I'm sorry...come back to me, please," Brady pleads, the same old plead he spews from his wretched mouth every fucking time this happens.

Sam rubs another tear from his cheek, leaving a read mark from the roughness of the way he wipes the tear away.

"You always say that! You always apologise and then this bullshit always happens over again! Every fucking time, Brady! I'm done!" Sam spits into the phone and slams his hand against his mouth when his voice cracks on the last word.

"Sam, baby, you don't mean tha--"

"Yes, Brady, I do," Sam interupts, his new resolve to prove to the asshole that he really actually does mean it engulfing his voice, making it inexplicably composed as he continues his incantation. "Wanna know why... _baby_? Because you're a dick. Because this _keeps_. _Fucking_. _Happening_. Because your pleading is archaic and your logic is, ha!" He pauses to laugh for real then adds, " _offensively_ esoteric. So fuck. You. Brady. You pathetic, desperate piece of shit."

"Sam, don't be like this--"

"Like what?!" There's a long pause on the other end of the line, one where Sam takes the opportunity to chuck a rock at the brick wall of the side of the strip club he's standing outside.

"Sam, please," Brady's voice is quiet and seems so innocent and if Sam didn't know him, didn't know just exactly who Brady really is, his heart might have broken.

But it doesn't. Because Sam does know who Brady is and he's not someone Sam can bring himself to feel bad for.

"Brady? Just..." Sam trails off when he hears a creak and sees the back door of the club open. A body steps out, a man, about fifteen centimetres shorter than Sam, with blonde hair, an amazing muscular build and--

And holy _shit_. Sam's heart stops, when the man looks to his right and spots Sam, and Sam catches a glimpse - from _across the alley_  - of he man's nauseatingly gorgeous honey gold eyes.

"Sam?" Brady's voice seems concerned but Sam's is acrid when he finally replies.

"Just leave me alone. Delete my number--" the man steps closer, furrowing his brows as he watches Sam, and Sam's voice falters at the man's beauty. He turns, still staring with unashamed awe at the blonde man, and whispers into the phone the rest of his choleric rant. "Don't contact me, don't contact my friends, my brother. Nothing, Brady. You hear me--"

"Hey, there, sasquatch. Watcha doin'?" The man takes a final step toward Sam, still about a metre away, staying cautious.

"Sam? Who's that?" Brady's tone becomes sour. "Who the hell are you with?!"

"Brady, calm do--" Sam tries but Brady speaks over him.

"Don't tell me to calm down, you ass! You're with someone else, aren't you!" Brady screams into the phone and Sam flinches.

The man standing in front of him must hear Brady's animosity through the phone, even from where he's standing and he struts the rest of the way across the alley to Sam and holds out his hand.

Sam thinks he knows what the man wants but Sam regards him skeptically anyway.

Obviously this annoys the man and he huffs, snatching the phone from Sam's trembling hand.

"Hey there, buddy," the blonde man - 'Honey Head', the white letters spell out on the back of his teal panties, which Sam notices when the man turns and Sam can't help but lean slightly to the right to get a peek at what Sam now knows is a great ass - snarks into the phone. 'Honey Head' - Sam smirks at the name - doesn't wait for Brady's response before continuing. "Look, I've never met you, but I can already tell you're a just great big bag of dicks. So why don't you run along and leave my boy here alone, huh?"

Sam can't hear the phone from where he is but he can tell that no sound is coming out of it because when someone says something like that to Brady, he simply stands in stunned silence - he's never been able to coagulate comebacks to things like what Honey Head has just said.

Suddenly he hears Brady's voice, venomous and unbelieving, buzzing through the phone.

"How dare you--"

But Honey Head cuts the bastard off by stabbing the end button without much interest.

Honey Head turns back toward Sam and hands him the phone unceremoniously, and grins.

Sam just stares, gaping mouth and wide eyes, before slowly taking the phone and pocketing it.

"You're welcome," Honey Head's voice rings with a grace that makes Sam's heart pound and with a contempt toward Brady that makes Sam smile.

"Ah..." Sam struggles for a thank you that can communicate to the man how irrevocably grateful he is, but Honey Head holds up his hand and tilts his head.

"What's your name, sailor," Honey Head growls like Sam is in a line up and he's said something to upset the commander - the commander being Honey Head. Sam opens his mouth and his eyes twitch down as he lets out a short, breathy laugh, then bites his lip and peeks back up through is lashes.

"I'm Sam," he finally replies, still smiling and contemplating whether the man is one of the strippers and that's why he's wearing panties...ones that say 'Honey Head' in curved letters across the ass.

"Gabriel," Honey Head says in a sparkly husk and juts a hand outward. "But, uh... _you_ can call me Gabe."

Sam smiles and clasps Gabriel's offered hand.

He doesn't need Brady.


	2. Have We Met?

Friday night is the second busiest at the club, so Gabe likes to work triple shifts in order to accumulate the amount of money he often enjoys receiving at work.

He likes the attention too. Men, women, even some trannies, ogle him as he whips around on stage. He's like a fucking firecracker and he loves it; the money, the eyes on him, the gaping mouths...but most of all, the dancing. He's never told a soul why he loves it, and he plans to keep it that way.

Gabriel struts past several men and two women at one of the larger tables on his way to the stage and one of the men reaches up and pinches his ass.

He pauses, pivots on his heel, tilts his head, and moves forward slowly, staring the man down. When he gets close enough, he balances himself over the man, his hands gripping either armrest of the chair as he shoves his face into the other man's.

"Honey, if you wanted a prostitute, you should've gone to a downtown alley way," he spits into the man's face, his lips catching in a snarl.

"What's going on here?!" Meg growls from behind Gabe and he pushes up off the chair and backs away behind Meg, his boss primarily, but also his protector. She throws an arm out behind her and lets it hover around Gabe's left shoulder before continuing. "You touchin' my boys, you pathetic, desperate little shit?"

"You can't sue me, you don't have proof--" the man tries, but the smirk quickly fades from his twisted face when Meg speaks over him in a dangerous tone.

"We have video surveillance," she retorts, then steps closer, towering over him. Her voice becomes quiet and venomous when she adds, "I'm not gonna sue you this time, doll, but next time I even see your face near this building...there's gonna be hell."

The man gulps, pauses, chokes in a breath, then opens his mouth to speak. He doesn't get a syllable out, though, before a sharp voice emanates from behind Gabe.

"You okay, Gabriel?" Sam's tone somehow rings in the music thick air. He steps around Gabe and Meg and squints his eyes, his brows dripping over them for just a second as he tilts his head, looking over the man and regarding him without much interest. And for whatever reason, this makes Gabe smile, a smile he has to suppress because, God knows, this is not the appropriate situation in which to smile. Sam's voice pierces Gabe's ears again and he nearly shudders. "Who the hell are you and where the hell do you get the right to touch him at all."

"Look, man, I was just doin' it for shits and giggles, it was a dare, alright? Calm down," the man replies, his words a rushed, fastidiously cowering piece of rambling art.

"I asked you a question, you pompous ass," Sam sneers, then repeats his previous statement in a brazen tone that kind of almost scares Gabe. "Who. The hell. Are you."

"Alistair..." The man gulps, still cowering beneath Sam's stature.

"Alistair?" Sam throws his head back in a fake laugh and smirks down at the bastard's hilarious nervous tremble. He nods a few times, his eyebrows raised and a fake smile anchored to his lips. It fades and his eyebrows drop again as he continues to speak. "Get the fuck out."

"You can't tell m--" the man attempts to get a word in edgewise but Sam won't have it. "You touch my boyfriend and I get to tell you whatever the fuck I want, you perv," Sam retorts, fisting his hand around the man's shirt collar, shifting back, and lifting him all in one swift motion. "Get out."

The man nods and Sam releases him. Gabe snickers at the way the man speed walks, nearly sprints, out of the building, and the way his friends stare, eyes locked in impudent, uninhibited awe, at Sam, then slowly gather their things and leave.

"Piece of shit," Sam mutters then turns to smirk at Gabe.

Gabe just stifles a grin in return, rubbing his hand over his mouth and considering Sam with greedy eyes he hopes the taller man can't interpret in the dark room.

"Nice job, sailor," it's Meg, now standing with thumbs shoved into the front pockets of her jeans and a smug half smile tugging at her mouth as she faces Sam. And Sam must know now where Gabe picked up the he speaks. "What's your name?"

"That's Sam," Gabe interjects in a voice that's probably a little too shaky and quiet for his own good.

"Sam? _The_  Sam? The one you've been talking about _nonstop_ for the past _three days_?" Meg raises her eyebrows and gives Sam her special, oh-so-precious, open mouthed grin which she reserves solely for occasions like this, in which she embarrasses her 'boys'. "Well, howdy' do, pardner? My boy, Gabe, can't seem to get his mind off y--"

"Shut up, shut up!" Gabe intervenes the situation because it obviously was not going to resolve itself.

"Hey, it's true, Gabe-o," she widens her eyes.

"Meg, we've got an angry customer down on the second floor and I really can't deal with it myself. Can ya just have Azazel take this floor for a minute?" A woman with dirty blonde hair, an elegantly aged face, thin lips, and huge brown eyes asks of Meg as she steps up behind the younger woman.

Gabe still thinks it's kind of funny that Meg runs this place and both older women - Ellen, the woman Meg's talking to now, and Jody, the lady who runs the first floor and who Gabe's not said more than ten words to in his entire time working here - are under her command, even though, as aforementioned, they're both older.

He doesn't know why it's funny, just knows that's how he finds it.

Meg exchanges a few more words with Ellen, then returns her attention to Gabe, smirks at him, turns back to Sam, winks, and struts away to deal with the supposed mess on the second floor.

Gabe shakes his head in a disconcerting fervour and rolls his eyes unceremoniously, then turns to Sam, whom he peeks at once before his gaze falters and trips downward to stare at his own shoes.

Sam is trying very hard to suppress a grin, Gabe can tell, because when the moose speaks again, Gabe can hear it in his cocky fucking voice.

"So...that's your manager?" He asks, his voice clubbing itself in a war between staying calm and laughing uncontrollably - the laughing side being the winning of the two.

"She runs the joint, top boss, highest of the high. That's why she runs the third floor. And she didn't want to at first. Inherited it from her uptight, obscenely rich father, this dude named Crowley, when she was, like, 23 and her dad was killed in some hate crime...he was gay," Gabe is able to choke out in a shy mumble, one he's literally never had fall from his mouth before and hasn't the foggiest how to deal with. "The other woman was Ellen, second floor manager, and Jody's on the first floor. Their floors, of course, don't determine their ranks. Meg sees all three of them as equal and...well, she's kind of brainwashed the other two to see it that way, too."

"Well...good for her...what made her come around?" Sam inquires. So curious about everything. "I mean, like, what...made her change her mind about wanting to run this place?"

Gabe just shrugs then gasps when Sam leans down, squints at his face, and swipes away a piece of hair that's fallen into Gabe's eye, but that he's neglected to push out of his face himself.

"Well, look...thanks...for standing up for me like that. I mean, usually Meg does that but...I liked your...thingy...better."

Sam's unsurprisingly beautiful, warm, open mouthed laugh overlaps Gabe's words slightly and encircles Gabe in the most comforting bubble of joy he's ever experienced.

"My 'thingy'?" Sam sniggers and Gabe realises Sam's hand is still attached to Gabe's cheek, his fingers lingering against his jaw in what other people might consider a too-long touch. But Gabe considers it sweet - absent minded and terribly obnoxious and awfully inconsiderate of Sam, but sweet, nonetheless.

"W-I mean...I, uh..." Gabe sputters, then gives up and sighs outwardly, at a completely inexorable and utterly contemptible loss for words. Sam breathes out a short noise that sounds inexplicably like a scoff, but drips from his mouth like warmed honey, just like any of his other laughs.

"I know what you mean, Gabriel," Sam's voice holds a welcoming silence but it still somehow shatters the music and laughter thickened air.

Gabe bites his lip, smiling but wondering why Sam is so diffident about just calling him 'Gabe'.

"Hey, so...why...are you here?" Gabe quips, pulling in his brows in genuine confusion, because after all, why the fuck would someone as beautiful as Sam want to willingly see someone as...ugh...as Gabe. Gabe may be cocky, but he's got a self image low enough to trip over. "Why did you...come back, I mean..."

Sam's eyebrows scrunch downward and his nostrils flare as a slight frown disturbs his features.

"Wh...aha...Gabriel...why _wouldn't_  I...come back?"

"Well, I just...I just thought...I don't know. You just don't seem like--"

"Gabriel. You saved my ass and beat my ex's. I just wanted to properly thank you for what you did," Sam grins and Gabe catches a glimpse of Sam's eyes grazing a rather inappropriate section of Gabe's body before lowering his gaze to the floor and continuing in a very small voice. "He's only called me once in the past three days. That's a record..." He looks back up, his lips parted in a paused continuation of his speech. "Gabriel, I...I can't even _begin_...to communicate to you how grateful I am...and I don't have the words to describe to you how thankful I am."

Gabe gapes, unable to coagulate a proper response - one that's meaningful, at least. So he goes with one of his usual snarky ones.

"Are you sure you're not here because you like to watch men dancing?"

"Yeah, well...maybe I thought the change of pace might be exhilarating," Sam replies and the two most adorable fucking dimples Gabe's ever had the honour of acquainting make a special guest appearance in Sam's cheeks. The smile that invoked the dimples may be small but it's invigorating; sweet, and innocent, and arrogant, and it carries the absolute adoration Sam seems to only reserve for Gabe, who's admittedly seen it only twice before, in the alleyway behind the strip club.

"Were you right?" Gabe whispers after taking a single step forward, now only a few centimetres away from Sam.

Sam takes in a desperate, gulping gasp of air as his hazel eyes dig through his thick lashes to find Gabe's lips knotted into a soft smirk.

"Well...your reason's more accurate. Almost right..." Sam doesn't hesitate to flirt back and his unashamed, breathy words bite at Gabe's skin, making shivers and leaving purple bruises.

"Almost right?" Gabe whines, mock annoyance heavy in his husky words.

"Almost. The part about watching men in general dance isn't right..."

"In general?"

The corners of Sam's lips twitch upward, one higher than the other, which makes for quite a lovely half smile, one that indicates a familiar cynicism.

"I'd rather see just you," Sam mumbles, then does something that surprises the hell out of Gabe.

Sam steps forward, closing the already tiny space between them, and takes Gabe's hands in his own. And, holy shit, now he's standing chest to chest with this beauitful moose of a man...well, chest to underneath chest, really.

 _Why am I so short?_  Gabe's constantly wandering mind performs its usual act, but not for long before Gabe notices how Sam gazes down at him, soft and delicate hazel irises nearly obsolete, pupils dilated to an unbelievable width, and just a glimpse of a smile scratching his lips.

Sam's hair waterfalls over his face and Gabe wonders briefly how someone could stand to keep their hair that long. 

And Gabe can't think about that for very long because he's pulled flush up against Sam's chest and he's craning his head back to peek up at Sam and he's absent-mindedly, stupidly wrapping his arms around Sam's waist because Sam has his own arms folded around Gabe's shoulders.

"This might be way off the rail, but would you like to go to dinner sometime? Or do what I usually do on a Saturday night, which is drink myself silly then pass out in the bathtub," Gabe fights the urge to chuckle because God fuck it if that's at all off the rail. He still can't bring himself to even try to think up an excuse as to why Sam would want to be here at all, but he continues anyway. "But if you agree...this time I'll be passing out next to someone."

"Always drink with a friend," Sam agrees, chuckling, then he quiets and gives Gabe a serious look before adding, "or... something...kind of _like_  a friend."

As if Sam's regular angelic voice didn't already make Gabe quiver, this new - admittedly, indubitably sexy - tone makes his stomach drop and his heart pound its way into his throat. That's probably why he can't speak now, because he's choking on his own organs. The words, themselves, get to him, make a special guest appearance in some of the deepest, darkest parts of his mind and light those depths up like fucking fireworks in a December's midnight sky that holds no stars.

Gabe buries his face in the hollow at the base of Sam's neck to hide what an absolutely idiotic grin said face is sporting.

 _Stupid stupid stupid_,Gabe castigates himself. Because what the fuck is he thinking. He just met this guy and three days - days in which neither of them had any contact with eachother - later, he's here. At the strip club. Where Gabe works. Looking to see no one but Gabe.

So, like the cocky, awkward, short stack he is, he asks Sam in his huskiest tone, "Well, sailor...you want a private dance or what?"

"Fuck yeah," Sam laughs, breathy and greedy and provocative, and Gabe grips the man's hand and runs toward an opening behind the stage.

They slam through a pair of thick-ass curtains made of red velvet and leather tassels and Gabe's always found those damn curtains annoying as all fuck.

Let's just say, at one point there was an incident in which his bare ass slammed into the curtains at about a thousand kilometres per hour and he was sore for a week.

But even if it happens again, he thinks it won't matter, because this time...he's with Sam.


	3. An Unfamiliar Sound

Gabriel throws Sam into the beanbag chair and looks him up and down, whistling softly, and for a fleeting moment, Sam thinks maybe Gabriel didn't mean for Sam to hear that whistle.

Gabriel leans down, straddling Sam's waist with his arms and letting his head drift below Sam's chin then peeking up at Sam with an easy smirk threatening his lips.

The blonde man cranes his neck and shamelessly grazes his nose over Sam's jaw, and Sam can hear him inhaling.

"You smell nice, gigantor," Gabe speaks slowly, staring down at the very back of Sam's jaw, obviously trying very hard not to kiss it or bite it or whatever he so desperately wants to do, before his eyelashes flip upward and he's squinting at Sam, his eyes a mixture of danger and possessiveness and, surprisingly, a small amount of hesitance.

"Gabriel," Sam breathes, half warning and half want and, goddamnit, he wishes he could decide between the two.

"Stop," the other man holds a hand up, shushing Sam, and adds, "Seriously. Just call me Gabe."

"Why? I like Gabriel."

"Because...w-well...okay, well, I don't actually know," 'Gabe' admits, dressing his cheeks in a contrite blush and shrugging his shoulders in the cutest way. "And, I mean...I have to say, I like how my actual name sounds when you say it."

Sam bites down on his smiling lip, the little ass, and squints at 'Gabe', contemplating his next move.

"I guess, I'm just used to Gabe. You saying Gabriel is just kinda weird after literally twenty years of being Gabe," Gabriel rationalises, pouting faintly. Then he purses his lips outward and his amazing fucking golden irises flick up to Sam's face. "You into role-play, sailor?"

"Aha...well, I think I know what you want me to be," Sam responds, his lips folding upward and his words dripping from his mouth like the honey pooling in Gabe's eyes.

"And what would that be?"

"A sailor?"

"You bet your sweet, round, goddamn fuckable ass, kiddo," Gabe growls, his breath suddenly quick, tickling the edge of Sam's jaw, spidering it's way out through Gabe's throat, snaking along Sam's skin, and tip toeing into Sam's ear. Then he adds in the breathiest voice Sam's ever heard, "God, you're beautiful."

"Gabe, don't say that--"

"It's true--"

"Gabe--"

"Sam. It's true. It's a fact. You're so beautiful; I just met you, and I know barely anything at all about you, and--"

"Stop--"

"And this is a floor," he pats the floor, "and this is some gorgeous, messy-ass hair," he reaches up and musses Sam's hair with his fingers. Gabe stops, dropping his hand, and breathes in, blinking slowly and then letting his eyes graze over Sam's body.

And those damn eyes, they encircle Sam's skin, they caress his existence and they claim him. They rip away his copyright as a human being and swallow it whole.

"And you are beautiful," Gabe adds, concluding the tirade that Sam tried so hard to stop, and Sam takes in a sharp breath.

"Gabe," the word still feels strange falling from his lips and Sam can't quite wrap his mouth around it.

It's like learning a new language - the sounds feel awkward, sitting uncomfortably on Sam's tongue and then clumsily tumbling through his mouth, being pushed from the cliff that is the pink, swollen flesh of his lower lip.

"What," Gabe replies lamely, giving Sam a moderately bored look.

Well...Sam was going to answer...and now he can't.

Because Gabe's lips are attached to his jaw, to his ear, to his neck. And fuck it all if Sam doesn't want Gabe to kiss his lips.

 _No, stupid_ , Sam scolds himself. He just met this man. He just broke up with Brady. And, goddamnit, he's never wanted meaningless sex.

He doesn't want to feel like he owes Gabe, but he does. He does, because Gabe verbally flipped off Brady, _over the phone_ , and Brady's run off. Because of Gabe. 

So, damn right, he feels like he owes Gabe. And he wants to fuck him, but he doesn't want that to be what he does for Gabe in return. He wants be with this man. In more than a sexual way, which is the strangest fucking thing, considering all the aforementioned reasons to NOT be with him.

"Gabe, I don't..." Sam's voice cuts off in a soft moan at the feeling of Gabe's lips grazing down the centre of Sam's neck.

Gabe freezes, though, when the words seem to finally register, and he detaches his lips from Sam's skin and cranes his head upward to stare at Sam with innocent eyes and a _genuinely concerned_  frown.

What the fuck kind of game is this.

"Sam, what's going on?" Gabe whispers, and his voice is awfully sad for someone who's not supposed to care.

"Look, trust me. I would... _love_  to do...this. With you. You have no idea how much I want to...but we just met...we talked _once_. In an alleyway. And...I don't know a thing about you. And...I don't want to do this as an obligatory thing--"

"Wait, what?"

"Well...I feel like I owe you...I mean, Gabe. You did break up with my ex for me. That's a lot for one person to do without wanting something back..."

"Whoa," Gabe holds up a hand and laughs, a cold laugh that scares Sam just a little. "Whoa, whoa, whoa...you think..." He laughs again, this time a genuine laugh that both confuses and welcomes Sam, and Sam makes a face, tilting his head, pulling his brows down, and squinting his eyes for just a second, and he waits for Gabe to reiterate. "Kiddo, I don't want to do this because I feel like you owe me. I don't want to do this because you're pretty, I don't want to do this because I'm looking for some kind of quick, faceless, nameless sex," he stops again, this time to steal peck on the cheek. "And if you don't want to do this now, or even ever, I'm not gonna make you."

Sam looks down, watching his hands, and he doesn't answer. The silence wraps around both of them, a python contracting, snaking over the skin of its prey and tightening relentlessly.

So, Gabe, ever the cocky one, curls his finger beneath Sam's chin and lifts his head, forcing Sam to watch Gabe's face instead of their legs. He knows he has a dejected look in his eyes, but when he sees Gabe's reaction to said look, he's surprised at the amount of actual affection aimed at him.

"Sam, I promise. That's not who I am...besides," Gabe leans back on his heels and smirks, "I'd actually really enjoy just... hanging out sometime. Let's go to...I don't even know," Gabe stands and twirls around, three hundred sixty degrees, then pivots on the ball of his foot, pushes off, and slingshots forward, his hand catching the silver plated pole in the centre of the pink room the momentum of him jumping at it driving his - actually absolutely beautiful - body to spin halfway around the pole so he's facing Sam again. "What'dya like, Sammoose? Movies? Romantic movies? Comedic movies? Romantic-comedy movies?" He gasps, releasing his grip on the pole and slapping his hands against his mouth, which hangs open in mock excitement. "Action-adventure movies?"

"Gabe--"

"What about dinner? Or lunch? Or bah-runch! Or maybe coffee. Or a play, or even an amusement park?"

Sam raises his eyebrows and two silent questions hang in the air between them: 1) what does Sam like to do on a date. 2) is Gabe done fucking talking.

Apparently, he is, because he remains quiet, sauntering over and flopping down in Sam's lap, a smug little asshole-esque smirk pillaging his elegant features.

"You'd actually go on a date? With me?" Sam sits up and squints. "And not out of pity?"

"Oh, boo. Pity is for tree-huggers, you whore," Gabe replies sharply. But then his face and his voice soften, and Sam falls into his words like they're a pillow. "I wouldn't pity you. Ever. Even in your worst days."

Sam considers this, and Gabe's almost completely naked body on top of his jean-clad legs, in a rather rudimentarily affectionate manner. Sam revels in the feeling of Gabe's ribs, Gabe's warmth, pressing into his own chest, and Gabe's arms wrapped around Sam's neck, and Gabe's face only a centimetre from Sam's.

 _Kiss him, you idiot_ , Sam's conscience jeers, reminding him of the overbearing urge to just...do it.

He purses his lips outward and nods in silent consent then speaks up.

"I think...and I'm not saying no," Sam waves his finger at Gabe, who raises his eyebrows in an expectant smirk. "I think...I mean, why can't...we just hang out? Like. At my apartment?" Sam inquires slowly, each word swimming from his lips and clinging to the edge of his chin before scampering over to Gabe's ears, which perk up along with his eyebrows in a helpless kind of surprise.

"Really?" Gabe breathes, his brows pulled in and his eyes drooping, sagging with tears of joy and hope and admiration. "You..."

Sam's smile is slow and fleeting, his skin crinkling with the motion and his eyes flickering with a blatant assuredness and Gabe's heart appears to skip a beat.

Gabe jumps at Sam and his arms are the epitome of strong and possessive as they hold Sam in place.

"I feel like a teenage girl going on her first date, but I really don't care," Gabe's words sound gritted but that's just because his chin is trapped against Sam's shoulder and his cheek buried in Sam's hair.

He likes that feeling. The feeling of Gabe against him and Gabe's hands on him and even just Gabe breathing next to him in general.

He smiles and hugs Gabe back.


	4. Something Wicked

"As a kid, my dad was absent, like, 98% of the time, and when he was there, he would do nothing but sit there, on the couch, and watch mindless television. I-I mean, it'd be on, an he'd be staring at it, but he never really tuned in to the real world, never really saw anything. He used to be a bookwrite for Christ's sake. It was his passion, his entire life. And then mum died...plane crash. And writing became nothing more than his escape, a sort of...activity...to pass the time, to get his mind off the fact that the love of his life was torn to shreds by a thousand tree branches as she plummeted through a forest at 400 kilometres an hour. Then, after a while, the creativity when out the window. His eyes used to be so full of life. He was my idol..." Gabe stares into the distance, wallowing in a smile, but his lips drop and his brows pull down and in and his eyes twitch down to search the empty skin of his hands and he continues, his voice quiet and unabashedly harsh. "Like I said, the writing began to fade, the creativity, the deep thought, the beautiful, incredible words that I once saw, that I was so used to seeing just flowing from his mind into his finger tips...it all started to disappear. And then, one day...he stopped writing altogether," Gabe stops again, his hand tightening around Sam's bedspread and his face contorting with grief. "That day...that's the day that everything - and everyone - went to shit. That was the first day dad spaced out. And Lucifer got mad, he was outraged, that his father would allow himself to drift off like that, when he has four sons to take care of. That was the one day I ever saw Luci chuck a picture across the room. It was my favourite one, too. It was the last picture of mum and the rest of us as a family that we took before she was killed. We were at the beach, north Cali, and I was 6, holding baby Castiel while I sat in Lucifer's lap, who was sitting back in a beach chair - he was 14. And Mike was 12, he was standing behind Lucifer, peeking over the damn guy's shoulder to see Cas's face. And mum and dad were sitting, both of them cross-legged, next to eachother, smiling. Grinning. They were both wearing sunglasses and someone might think they were watching us, but...I like to think they were glancing at eachother...because they always used to, when they thought we weren't looking. They would share these little looks of adoration and affection and smile at eachother for just a second, and then they would bring their attention back to what they were doing with us. and it always made me so happy, seeing them together like that...well, anyway...that was also the day, the day when Lucifer threw that picture and it just...shattered against the wall; that was also the day when Michael stormed out of the house...none of us have heard from him since...I was only 11...you're not supposed to lose your brother at that age...or ever. But he left, nevertheless. And he took, like, only a fourth of his shit with him. Some clothes, some food, some water, and a bunch of money. Which has never bothered any of us...our dad sold books, for fuck's sake, and our mum was a head surgeon and we were just born into money in general because our mum's family was literally just this huge pile of surgeons from over the centuries. Money, money, money. Seriously, just everywhere."

"So why do you take such satisfaction in earning money, now?" Sam interupts, scrunching up his face in genuine confusion. Gabe realises Sam isn't asking about his mum's death or his father's quick decline, or his own spiral into a depressive oblivion. He hopes his faint smile isn't noticeable.

"I don't know...guess I never really thought about it..." Gabe shrugs, twisting his mouth downward and tugging up his brows as his eyes shift down and watch the sheets. "Maybe it's the irrational hope that...somehow, earning money the way mum did, working hard, taking multiple shifts, and somehow still finding time to visit my family and my friends...and a possible partner in crime," he peeks up at Sam and smiles so fucking innocently - on purpose, "that maybe that'll help me...see her again. See her proud smile and her loving eyes as she pretends to critique a painting that Cas has done or genuinely enjoys an excerpt from one of my dad's books...or maybe to get rid of her."

The latter seems more likely to Gabe. His mother's presence still lingers, a residuating grin here, two leftover green eyes there, and a single, echo of a surprised, giggling, happy voice, reciprocating against the faltering walls of the chamber Gabe's locked her spirit away in, the one that resides so deep in his own mind that he can't even reach it...he wants to, though. He wants to shove a hand in there and dig through his thick, arrogant fucking skull, to tread through layers of muscle and blood and tendons, and open that chamber and set her free. He wants to get rid of the memories, he realises, because they're beginning to weigh down on him more heavily than ever before.

"Gabe?" Sam's voice penetrates his over-imaginative brain and envelopes him in a strangely familiar embrace. He releases Gabe quickly though, and Gabe resists the urge to whine. Luckily for him, Sam's hands remain attached to Gabe's shoulders. Gabe's eyes flit upward and Sam smirks. "Hey, there, nuthouse, what's goin' on in that pretty, blonde head."

Gabe returns the smile, his own smaller, less genuine, than Sam's, but a smile, all the same.

"Nothing, kiddo...just thinking," Gabe responds in a whisper and the words take a colder plunge from his mouth than he'd expected. "Sorry, that...sounded...um...ah, god, sorry--"

"Well, maybe you should stop thinking, and let me hug you," Sam chuckles and folds Gabe into another tight hug. "I was only half kidding about the partner thing, by the way," Gabe breathes after what seems like a sufficient amount of silence. But the silence that follows his own statement hangs in the air. It stretches out like taffy, slowly, then retracts abruptly, and folds in on itself when Sam speaks again.

"Well, that's...aha," Sam lets out a noise, a breathy laugh that gargles in the back of his throat then bubbles through his lips and lands on Gabe's spine, warm and inviting, yet somehow, making him shiver. "Wow..."

Sam pulls away and smiles, and Gabe chomps down on his lower lip in a depressingly clumsy and fruitless attempt to suppress a completely, almost _offensively_ , esoteric urge to bite down, instead, on Sam's neck. He wants to feel Sam shiver and he wants to know he's the one who made Sam do it.

"Why the lip bite," Sam's question is more of a statement but his voice still makes Gabe shiver.

"Hm? No, nothing, I'm fine," Gabe replies, his voice much slower than he expected it to be. He realises he had cringed before he spoke, hoping he didn't speak to quickly and raise further questions.

Sam nods and squints skeptically at Gabe, obviously not trusting his reassurances.

"Fine...I just..." He chokes off and laughs defensively. Awkwardly. "I really...really want to...bite your neck." He laughs again. "And that's stupid. I know. But...I just...I had to bite something to keep myself from jumping you and biting you instead."

Sam raises his eyebrows, completely shocked into speechlessness, and Gabe's stomach drops.

"I shouldn't have said th--"

Sam leaps forward and tackles Gabe, shoving him back into the bed and landing on top of him, arms encircling Gabe's neck and face millimetres from his. Sam's heavy. Not fat heavy. Just...really tall moose heavy. But Gabe doesn't care. Because _Sam is on top of him in the best way possible and he's staring into Gabe's eyes with the most beautiful hazel irises ever_.

His life couldn't possibly be any better right now.

The sun practically bombs the entire wall, blasting through the window in a sheer blanket of golden afternoon light, and it reaches its hands out and grabs at Sam's face, lighting it up to match the way his eyes and his smile were already alight.

Gabe doesn't know what to do with what's just happened, so he simply raises a hand and brushes the mass of brown hair that's fallen into Sam's and his own face back behind Sam's ear.

"Jesus Christ, you're beautiful," Gabe breathes and Sam's eyelashes hop down over his eyes, shielding any reaction Gabe would've been able to see. He takes a second to look back up, and when he does, his eyes trail slowly up Gabe's body - or what he can see of it while laying on top of him - pausing on his lips for a second longer.

"I want to deny that...and I'm trying to..." Sam bites his lip then leans down and grazes his nose over Gabe's neck. "I just can't," he adds, his lips mumbling over Gabe's skin, creating goosebumps.

Gabe's gasp is sharp as he tries desperately to hold himself back. They can't do this. Not yet. Not under these circumstances and not because of these things.

"Sam."

"Hmhm," Sam hums a response and places a very tentative kiss against Gabe's jaw.

"I don't...we shouldn't...uh...shit," Gabe stammers, but Sam must understand because he lifts his head back up and gazes down at Gabe with a knowing regard. "I'm sorry, I just--"

"Gabe, it's fine," Sam cards his fingers through the side of Gabe's hair, and Gabe tries to hide a tiny smile, calm and shy. "Cuddling is just as great."

There are hearts in Sam's eyes as he rests his head in the crook of Gabe's neck and breathes in.

"Yeah, I guess they are," Gabe replies quietly, drinking in the spicy scent of Sam's hair.


	5. Maybe a Dance or Two

"Come on!" Gabe laughs, tugging at Sam's wrist as the shorter man nearly jogs inside. Sam rolls his eyes and continues to waltz calmly forward toward the three story building.

They'd decided two days ago to go to a dance club as some kind of first date and that the best one was the one that resides on the first floor of Master's Strip Club and Bar, the club where Gabe works on the third floor as a male pole dancer and stripper.

And now, Gabe is grasping Sam's hand and dragging him into the first floor where the dance floor resides, nestled dead centre in the middle of the usual chaos of the small room.

But they've decided Wednesday is the best day to go, because neither of them have school or work, and it's the middle of the week, so it'll be a lot less chaotic.

Well, _Gabe_  decided to go. Sam only agreed because, well...they haven't actually gone anywhere, really. Of course, Sam is perfectly fine with simply sitting at either of their apartments, talking about nothing in particular while a movie blabs in the background. But, he supposes, that's the difference between him and Gabe.

They can't hear any music from outside, which is ridiculous, because when they open the doors, the music and a blast of cool air hits them like a basketball to the face, and Sam quirks a brow. He's never seen the first floor before. Only the third, and the stairs to the second. And he must say, it's a lot more cramped down here. The room is the same size as the third floor, overall, but there are more accessories. A bar stands on either side of the room, straddling at least twenty tables, and there are six giant speakers, at least two metres tall each, that rest against the walls, two at the far end of the room, and two on either side, beside the bars. To the direct left of the door, there towers a food stand and it seems it carries everything from packaged candy, to fresh fruit, to one and a half kilogram steaks grilled right there. And smack dab in the middle of it all, holding up at least a hundred sweaty, swaying, jumping bodies, the dark blue carpet of the floor cuts off in a square and surrounds a lit glass dance floor, the screens scraped and scratched a bit, but still soldiering on, shifting colours from red to orange to yellow to green to indigo to blue to purple to pink and then back to red, then, as Sam watches it and tries to glean its functions besides directing and herding people into a select spot to dance and lighting up, he realises the speed at which it changes colours depends upon the song.

The colours blink furiously from one to the next, at the moment, as the song rumbles out a stamping, pounding beat that wraps itself around Sam and takes control of his heart, pumping it to the song's own irregular beat.

"Gabe?" A short woman with sharp curves and an easy smile approaches them, her brown eyebrows shooting up. She has dark brown hair, nearly black, chopped short into what Sam assumes is a 'Pixie cut', and she has overused smile lines and an age before beauty regard in her hazel eyes. Her stride, lengthy for her height, is wrought with the sophistication and wise confidence of a mother and her smile is warm and amiable, and her voice is gravelly but soothing. "Hey, your next shift isn't until Friday, remember?"

"Hey, Jody. Yeah, I know...I'm just here as a customer," Gabe replies, tugging at Sam's hand and Sam stumbles forward to stand behind Gabe, slightly off to the side, but his hand rests against the small of Gabe's back and he can feel Gabe shudder.

Jody only glances at Sam, giving him a twice over and smirking, then letting her eyes whisper knowingly at Gabe. Sam watches in his periphery as Gabe's cheeks turn bright red.

"I see," she finally responds, switching her gaze back to Sam. "Well, welcome. I assume you're Sam?"

Sam's eyebrows pull in and he stares hard at the side of Gabe's head just as the shorter man turns it and looks up at him sheepishly.

"Sorry," Gabe squeaks before turning back to Jody and shrugging, bashful in a kind of adorable way.

Sam only works his jaw and turns his head into Gabe's hair, letting his lips simply rest against Gabe's head as he continues the conversation.

"I'll take that as a yes. It's nice to finally meet you Sam. Gabe won't shut up about you--" Jody tries but Gabe won't have it.

"Oh my god, you're just as bad Meg."

"We do have a relatively close friendship," she laughs and Sam glances at her from the corner of his eye, smiling lightly against Gabe's skull when he sees the smirk in Jody's eyes and feels the blush on Gabe's skin.

"Don't give her that look, you ass," Gabe mumbles, poking Sam in the ribs with a finger and pouting.

Sam only pulls away, laughing, and says, "What!"

He shuts his mouth, though, stifling his smirk, when Gabe shoots him a glare.

"You two have fun, then," Jody interjects and turns to leave. At the last second she swivels her head back and adds, "Oh, and...Sam?"

Sam watches with expectant eyes and intent ears.

"Take care of him for us. He's my favourite."

Sam offers a small smile and a nod before Gabe yanks his arm forward toward the dance floor.

They find their way through the crowd of rocking, twisting bodies and settle into the centre of the mass. Gabe slips his arms around Sam's ribs and Sam drapes his own arms around Gabe's neck, gazing down at the older man as he gazes back up, still blushing.

"You've got a little something on your cheeks there," Sam teases and Gabe smacks at his back.

"Shut up, you fucking moose," Gabe retorts and Sam chuckles softly, craning his neck and pressing a kiss to Gabe's forehead. "Your eyes look green when the light turns yellow."

"Do they, now," Sam replies, nodding into Gabe's head and smirking.

Gabe's own golden eyes flicker upward to watch Sam and Sam's breath hitches in his throat, scared to come out and disturb the kind of beauty that rests in those pools of molten gold.

He swallows and tilts his head, bending down further. Gabe's breathing picks up speed and just before their lips brush, Sam moves past Gabe's face and whispers, "Tell me more about how pretty I am."

When he pulls back to gauge Gabe's reaction, a smirk stuck to his lips, he catches Gabe's eyebrows jumping up and a shocked and annoyed smile parting his lips. Gabe nods and laughs.

"You're a douchebag, you know that, Sam Winchester?" Gabe whispers in return and, before Sam can answer, Gabe leans up and closes the gap between them, attaching their lips in a soft kiss. And Sam doesn't fight it. It lasts a few seconds, in physical time, and it lasts forever in Sam's mind. Because it's graceful, really. Gabe's lips are warm against Sam's and they caress Sam's like a baby in its mother's arms.

When Gabe pulls back, his eyes sweep over Sam's face and he blinks rapidly, his cheeks flushing all over again.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't--"

Sam only kisses him again, shutting him up, because what the fuck does Gabe have to be sorry for?

When Sam breaks away, he smiles and voices this thought.

"Why don't you shut up, Gabriel Novak?"

The song changes abruptly, and Rihanna's Please Don't Stop the Music shoots from the speakers and collides with the sea of bodies. Up until then, the two boys had been slow dancing, though none of the songs had called for it. But now Gabe tears away, a delighted smile wracking his face.

"I love this song!" He shouts over the bass and Rihanna's silky voice. He begins to rock with the conglomeration of carbon based organisms, jumping easily on his feet, twirling and swaying his hips, using, every so often, what appears to be some of the moves he's learned as a pole dancer.

Sam automatically glances at the stairs in the back right corner at this thought. Private dances are nicer.

But Gabe seems to be caught up in the moment, moving his body in perfect synchrony with the music and the pulsing lights of the floor and the large aggregation of other dancing humans.

And Sam smiles at this because Gabe gets so easily lost in his own foot work and in pulling Sam into the mess of heat and sweat and alcohol. And he's never seen anything like Gabe, so absolutely involved in the music and in dancing and so absolutely serious and passionate about moving in time to the rhythm. And he seems to be able to indirectly make the crowd move with him, because, Sam realises, the crowd _hadn't_ been moving this furiously before Gabe had started up.

His body is already sticky and sweaty but still beautiful in its own right. And his ability to capture an entire horde of people in a single, simple song places Sam in a spotlight of awe.

He watches Gabe as he begins to dance himself, enchanted by the way the man moves. It's breathtaking and shocking and terrifying at the same time.

_Do you know what you started? I just came here to party; but now we're rocking on the dance floor, actin' naughty - your hands around my waist._

Gabe's eyes flutter open and he catches Sam staring. He smirks and wisps over to Sam, still rocking and swaying his hips, reaching his hand out to take Sam's.

 _We're hand to hand_.

And when he gets to the taller man, he rests his chest against Sam's and cranes his neck to gaze up at Sam.

 _Chest to chest_.

They watch each other for a second, Gabe idly tangling his fingers in Sam's hair, and and they don't say anything for the longest time. And then. They're kissing again, and Sam can't seem to bring himself to care that they've still only known eachother for a week.

 _And now we're face to face_.

"We can go somewhere else, if you really don't want to be here," Gabe's words surprise Sam and he shakes his head before realising that must not be much of an answer and finding his voice.

 _I wanna take you away; let's escape into the music, DJ let it play_.

"I think I just prefer private dances," Sam speaks into Gabe's ear and the blonde man seems to shiver.

 _I just can't refuse it, like the way you do this_.

He nods, apparently contemplating this, then nods once more and drags Sam through the accumulation of bodies -

 _People rockin' to it_.

\- seemingly drawn in by the sudden quasar of energy - and toward the stairwell.

_Please don't stop the, please don't stop the, please don't stop the music._

They run up the steep stairs, which curve around eachother in a tight spiral of wrought-iron steps and rails. The men's feet slap against the rusted metal and the entire thing creaks and groans.

The spiral must be older than Sam, himself, and the walls curve around the stairwell in a circular formation, matching the curve of the stairs themselves.

They step off on a bed of thick carpet and stumble out onto the second floor.

Sam glances around the room, surveying it only briefly and gathering that this must be the female's floor. It's lit more brightly, with lighter colours, and the poles, each end attached to the ceiling and floor of the stage to the right of the stairs, are a harsher contrast of silver. The floor is mostly empty right now, a few men and women and others here and there, dotting the tables and surrounding the stage, maybe seventy people at most, some of them sitting in groups and others either with only one other person or on their own.

Only three women dance on the stage, and Sam watches, surprisingly not nearly as turned on or entranced by their elegant, much more flexible bodies, as he is by Gabe's.

Sam knows he isn't straight; he's known since he was thirteen, and had to keep it a secret from his homophobic father for five years until he announced that he was going to Stanford and John ended up getting angry anyway so he decided to announce that he was also not straight. Two birds with one stone. 

Sam was being kicked out of the house anyway. Dean seemed implicitly proud, both that Sam had gotten into Stanford and that he'd come out to their father...because Dean had known straight away - Sam had told him right when he knew, himself.

But he hadn't realised he was this non-heterosexual. He hadn't realised he was this into guys.

Not like he minds.

The same woman from a week ago - Ellen, Sam remembers Gabe calling her - approaches with a wide grin and the same confident stride as Jody. She spreads her arms and Gabe runs into them, squeezing her tightly. Sam's eyebrow cocks upward.

"Hey, Gabe. It's nice to see you down here," she pulls away and smirks, then adds, "For once."

Gabe shrugs and offers an apologetic smile.

"Sorry, Ellen. I've been busy with other things."

"Like?"

"School. Work on the top floor."

"And with this gem?" She interupts, seeming to notice Sam for the first time, but smiling affably. "You must be Sam."

"Gabe!" Sam whines, throwing up his hands and giving Gabe an exasperated look. Gabe turns slowly and peeks at him. "How many people...did you tell--"

"I promise, only these three lovely ladies," he rushes and Sam stares him down for another second before closing his eyes and shaking his head.

"Hey, it ain't a bad thing. He's told us nothing but good things about you. All he ever talks about is how cute your laugh is and how pretty your eyes are," Ellen chuckles, her voice gravelly and low. "Don't worry about it kid."

"Trying not to," Sam nods and smiles a small smile, and he's able to feel his dimples - or, at least, the annoyed version of them.

"Hey," Ellen replies suddenly, resting her hand on Sam's shoulder. "Seriously, kid. Gabe's crazy about you. So, uh...keep an eye on him, huh? Don't let him get into too much trouble and...don't hurt him. He's tough...but he's sweet, kinda emotional," she whispers most of this with a fervent care surrounding the words, her southern drawl buzzing in Sam's ears, but then smiles and backs away, messing up Gabe's hair. "He's my favourite boy."

"Yeah, I'm starting to assume he's everyone's favourite," Sam chuckles and throws an arm around Gabe's shoulders. "Nice to meet you, Ellen. Again."

"You too, big-foot. Now shoo, you two. Women only on this floor!" She cracks another smile before returning to her spot at the bar in the far corner of the room.

Sam's brows furrow and he turns to Gabe.

"There are men all over in here," he questions and Gabe raises his eyebrows. "Actually...those are women. Some of them transgender...or no gender. But mostly women. It's a lesbian bar," Gabriel explains, his voice crouched low in a whisper. Sam's face contorts in surprise and he looks more closely at the people sitting or standing around the room.

"Oh," is all he chokes out in reply. "That's...oops."

Gabe simply laughs and tugs him across the room to the other stairwell, the one that leads up to the third floor.

It's not curved in a spiral like the first one, it's just a normal staircase, and Sam assumes this is because the third floor was added only recently. And Sam suddenly recalls the oldness of the two bottom floors in contrast to the third floor as they tumble through the curtains and into the darkness of the male's floor.

"Stay here, I'll be right back. Promise," Gabe whispers and pauses, not letting go of Sam's hand, thinking. He pushes up on his tiptoes and kisses Sam's cheek, then glides away and Sam stands, awkwardly tall, in the corner of the room, watching the bustle of people and the stage set up to his left. There seems to be more people on this level - possibly because it's for all genders, including men - and there are at least seven men on the stage, twirling around the poles and strutting up and down the catwalk. Sam watches one of them, clad only in a pair of light pink, frilly lace panties, leading a customer around the corner at the other side of the stage, the customer's eyes trailing predatorily over the dancer's body, and his hands loosening the tie of his suit.

Sam is so caught up in the scenery that he doesn't see Gabe approaching, and he startles when Gabe's hand lands on his waist.

"Hey, Meg says we can use my usual room," he smirks and Sam's eyebrows move up.

"You're not gonna make me dress up as a sailor, are you?" Sam taunts and Gabe only waggles his eyebrows.

"Come on," he jogs across the room and around the stage, then toward the rectangular opening in the wall, Sam trailing behind him, eyes of the other customers catching on the two of them only fleetingly before retaining their drunken gazes back to the men on the stage.

They shove through the velvet curtains and jog the few short steps to the closed door of Gabe's back room. Gabe pushes it open, then turns to Sam, using both hands to pull him into the room, laughing.

When the door is shut and locked, Gabe pushes Sam back into the beanbag as he'd done before and crawls up into his lap. He kisses Sam quickly then smirks and leans back.

"You know, sir, I don't usually do this sort of thing," Gabe raises his eyebrows in mock pointedness and Sam plays along.

"You don't?" He gushes in fake surprise, trying not to burst out laughing.

Gabe shakes his head sadly, looking down, and replies, "No. But I think I'd like to know your name before we do anything. It would only be fair."

"My name is Mr. Sailor, young man. And yours?"

Gabe nearly laughs, tenaciously suppressing it, and says, "I'm Honey Head. It's nice to meet you."

Neither of them seem sure as to how to end the exchange, so Sam pushes forward and slides their lips together again, slipping his arms around Gabe's waist. Gabe hums and rolls his hips, deepening the kiss, pushing his tongue into Sam's mouth, making Sam gasp and quiver. Sam's sharp intake of breath contrasts with his lax body, calm and heavy beneath Gabe's.

Gabe pulls away but their foreheads remain stuck together and Sam tries to slow his breathing.

"Ready for the best lap dance of your entire life, sailor?" Gabe's voice rumbles and Sam smiles, shifting and grazing his hand over Gabe's stubbled jaw.

"You bet your hot ass, Honey Head," Sam breathes.

Gabe rolls his hips again and reaches over Sam's shoulder.

He hears the click of a button and the grumble of bass and the strum of a guitar at the beginning of a song, and Gabe begins dancing again.

 _Please don't stop the music_.


	6. A New Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years later

Gabe sneaks up behind Sam, who rests on the couch with his feet on the coffee table and his nose buried in another book, and slips an arm around his chest, kissing the top of his head.

Sam smiles and twists to peer up at Gabe, turning the book over and setting it face down on the couch next to him.

"Get your stinky feet off the coffee table. It blurs the pristine crystal of the glass," Gabe teases, carding his fingers through Sam's hair.

"Whatever. Hey, Dean says he can make it," Sam mumbles, stirring and standing up, then walking around the couch and folding Gabe into a gentle hug. He dips his head and buries his face in the base of Gabe's neck, planting a careful kiss there.

"Really? Wow, didn't peg him for a wedding guy," Gabe furrows his brows and snuggles into Sam for a moment before pushing away and carrying the three paper bags to the kitchen. They rustle slightly when he sets them down on the island and Sam follows him in and starts unpacking them without a word.

"Says he's coming for the food. And the hot chicks," Sam muses, laughing lightly and sliding an arm around Gabe's waist, then planting a kiss against the side of his head.

"I thought there was a Lisa; what happened to her?" Gabe inquires, raising a quizzical brow.

Sam shrugs and shakes his head.

"He goes through women like an actor changes clothes. He's not one for relationships. I don't know, he's a weird dude," Sam explains, pushing a box of Cheerios away to make room for a box of Frosted Flakes. "Gabe, what did I say about the sugary shit?"

"Hm? Oh...sorry I just really wanted Frosted Flakes," Gabe says and watches Sam turn around, putting on his best pouty face.

Sam rolls his eyes and sighs. Gabe knows it bothers Sam, his obsession with candy and sweets. But he likes annoying Sam, and Sam puts up with it. So it's never been a huge deal.

"Anyway, Cas will be there, and...Mike called. Explained he's been in Montana all these years. But says he can make it," a grateful smile crosses Gabe's lips as his voice becomes quieter, slightly wistful, then he adds more loudly, "Lucifer's busy on a business trip," and wiggles his fingers then waves limply out the window and says, "Big, scary CEO man, that he is."

"Wait...Michael, Mike? As in--"

"My brother, Mike? Yup," Gabe responds, tucking a head of lettuce into the fridge.

Sam raises his eyebrows and nods, obviously quite impressed by the turn of events, but he doesn't dote on the subject.

"What about Hannah and Anna?" He inquires.

"The twins can make it. But Rachel can't until the after party. Personally, I think she just wants the free booze. She's falling into old habits and quite honestly, I don't want to start anything, so I've stayed out of it."

"Well...have the twins done anything about it?" Sam quips and turns back to the bags. He pulls out the bread and waltzes across the room to the counter. "That seems like their business, specifically. I mean, she _is_ their older sister."

Gabe sighs and leans back into the counter before answering.

"I don't know anymore. They're all so detached from the family at this point. Uncle Balthazar tries to keep them in check, but, by now, he's really the only one who gets involved with family things - I'm surprised the twins even called, honestly."

Sam shuffles the bags into the pile next to the fridge and turns, wearing a sympathetic smile.

"Well if Rachel does make it, at least she'll have someone to drink with. Rufus and Uncle Bobby will be there," Sam laughs and kisses Gabe's forehead. "It'll all be fine. I promise."

"Okay...but if Grandpa Zachariah shows up, police will be called. Last time he saw a gay wedding, he crashed it. Drank a shit ton of liquor and punched both the grooms, then got hauled off mumbling homophobic slurs," Gabe starts off smirking, but by the end, he's frowning and letting his eyes drop.

"Hey," Sam says softly, gathering him into a tight hug. "Hey, that's not gonna happen, okay? I refuse to let that happen."

Gabe nods against Sam's t-shirt and breathes in the moose's spicy scent which he's grown to love over the years. He's so used to it at this point that he thinks if he ever lost it...if he ever lost Sam...

Now's not the time to be thinking about that though. It's time to be thinking about their wedding, about their future together.

Gabe imagines it's beautiful.


	7. An Archaic Love Come Anew

"Hey, kiddo. I gotta work Thursday. Damien twisted his ankle or some shit, and Raphael is on his honeymoon," Gabe bounces his brows and Sam sighs.

"Double shifts, Gabriel? Seriously?" Sam shakes his head and rakes his fingers through his hair.

"What?! You know I like the extra money," Gabe calls from the living room then walks in, a sympathetic frown ambient on his face.

"We have plenty of money."

"Sam. Remember? I told you about this. When we first met."

"I know, I know," Sam sighs again and hunches over in the chair, leaning his elbow against the island and resting his cheek in his palm. "I know, baby. I just...you work so hard. I mean...why not take a vacation. You have at least a two and a half month's worth of time saved up. Use it."

Gabe tries to pout but Sam knows damn well he's better at it.

"Yeah well...shut up," Gabe retorts and gives in to Sam's soft eyes, gliding over and sneaking his arms around Sam's waist then kissing the back of his neck. "I love you, Sam."

"Hmhm," Sam turns the small-backed stool around and Gabe slips in between his legs. Sam holds Gabe's face in one hand and brushes back some hair with the other. Then he adds quietly, "I love you, too, Honey Head."

"Really? That again? I thought you stopped calling me that when you realised it was because my dick tastes sweet and not because my hair is blonde," Gabe teases.

"You still call me sailor, so fuck your feelings," Sam teases right back and when the laughing subsides, Sam breathes out and pecks at Gabe's cheek. His smile fades a bit and he catches Gabe's lips in a smooth kiss, lapping into his mouth and grazing his teeth over Gabe's lip. When he pulls away, he tilts his head and watches Gabe, offering a sad smile. "Letting go of those little things doesn't seem very fair. Does it?"

Anguish passes through Gabe's eyes and he tears up, his lips parting.

"No it doesn't. It isn't," he breathes and Sam kisses him again, pulling the shorter man flush against him.

Sam breaks away and trails kisses down Gabe's neck, and across his jaw, and over his collarbone, and Gabe's breathing becomes heavier, harsher, more quick.

"Doesn't seem fair to let go of anything," Sam murmurs and bites down lightly at the base of Gabe's neck where it meets his shoulder, and Gabe shivers. He doesn't seem intent on answering, so Sam takes the opportunity to slide his hands downward over Gabe's back and they land on his ass, the one Sam's grown accustomed to and still finds so beautiful. He squeezes once and Gabe moans sharply, melting into Sam.

"Fuck. How do you know how to get me so worked up, huh?" Gabe whispers into the skin behind Sam's ear.

"I'm part of an alien race sent here to attain as much information about human reproduction as possible and I went to school on my home planet to learn about it," Sam retorts in all seriousness, pressing open mouthed kisses across Gabe's exposed shoulder.

"I think you got the wrong gender there, kiddo," Gabe teases.

Sam only smiles against his skin and slips his hands beneath the hem of Gabe's shirt. He tugs upward and Gabe lifts his arms over his head, allowing Sam to pull it up and over. Sam discards of the shirt by simply throwing it over his shoulder and not giving two shits where it lands. Because now he's staring at Gabe's bare chest, sculpted and heaving with his breaths. Sam's hands skim over Gabe's body and come to rest on his waist, and he pulls the shorter man in, craning his neck to journey his lips over Gabe's torso.

"Right in the kitchen, huh?" Gabe laughs breathlessly, his words slurring together, but Sam can't even find the affliction to nod or hum, because, goddamnit, Gabe tastes amazing.

Sam pulls back, if only for a second, and brings up his own t-shirt over his head, throwing it backward over his shoulder with the same graceless imprudence as Gabe's. They press closer together, and Sam revels in the feeling of Gabe's hot skin against his own, of Gabe's bare chest breathing into his.

Sam shakes his head and bends his arm at the elbow, combing his hand back over Gabe's hair, smiling a little half smile, admiring Gabe, his beauty, his build, his smile and his love.

"God, you're beautiful," Sam whispers shaking his head, then chuckles softly. "Remember when you first said that to me?"

"Yeah and you complained," Gabe teases, and they both laugh, and it's quickly subdued by a lazy kiss and a hand on a chest.

Without another word, they undress eachother, the movements familiar, habitual. Almost instinctual.

But this time, Sam is proving a point - the fact that Gabe is his. And what Gabe will miss out on if he does take those shifts.

And Sam reaches down, his teeth latched onto Gabe's nipple, his head moving with every heavy, groaning breath Gabe takes, and his hand wraps around Gabe's cock, finding its own easy rhythm. Gabe's head falls back and his neck curves so sharply it's almost like a blanket draped over a table, and his mouth hangs open in utter lust and pleasure.

"You gonna come for me, baby?" Sam mumbles, unable to tear his lips from Gabe's skin. They graze over every bare centimetre and back again, kissing any exposed flesh they can find.

Gabe lets out a moaning grunt in reply, obviously too caught up in his own delirium to formulate a coherent response.

But he does - a few more pressured strokes and he's coming all over Sam's chest and his own belly, and his cock twitches and pounds under Sam's touch as he pumps Gabe through it.

And when it's done, Gabe's knees buckle under his own weight and Sam watches him as he collapses against the taller man, resting his head on Sam's shoulder, and Gabe's breaths roll through his mouth in swirls and trickle out through his lips and over Sam's skin. Sam shivers at the feeling of it, and his own neglected cock twitches, practically whimpers.

"Fuck," Sam curses and goes to take care of it himself, but Gabe slaps his hand then kisses him - hard. Their lips smash together again and their tongues slide over eachother and wrestle for ascendancy, though Sam wins every time.

Gabe crouches abruptly and his eyes flicker over Sam's rock hard appendage, apparently cherishing it, though he gets to see it all the time. Nearly every day, in fact - and half the time, not even in a sexual way.

But he does it, nevertheless, and when Sam begins to writhe beneath Gabe's hands, which snake their way from Sam's shoulders, down over his chest and abdomen, thumbs hooking and pressing down fleetingly on the dips inside Sam's hipbones, then farther down over the top of his thighs and down to his ankles, he skims them back upward and lets them crawl along the inside of Sam's thigh. Sam bucks up involuntarily, his back arching and his moans filling the room. Gabe's hands glide back up to Sam's hips and Sam shudders even before Gabe's thumbs press farther into the v sculpted between the bones, because he knows that's what happens whenever Gabe's hands find that part of his body.

Gabe takes his sweet fucking time, trailing wet kisses up the inside of Sam's thigh, and Sam whines indignantly, tangling his fingers in Gabe's hair, which is still only half as long as Sam's, and growling almost predatorily. Gabe complies, though, shifting forward and fitting his mouth over the head of Sam's dick, flicking his tongue once, twice, over the sensitive slit that resides there, then plunging forward again, toward the base of Sam's member, practised in the art of swallowing other men whole.

"Ah!" Sam's cry is strangled and hoarse, and for a moment he forgets how to fucking breathe. Gabe's experienced lips move up and down Sam's cock for...well, not a very long time...before he's coming in Gabe's mouth, with Gabe's name dripping from his lips like the honey in Gabe's eyes. Gabe looks up through thick brown lashes and catches Sam's eye, then swallows he bittersweet liquid without a second thought.

"My god, kiddo. You okay?" Gabe's voice is low and husky still, shooting from his throat and landing on Sam's entire body, enclosing him in a curtain of satin and silk.

The syrupy thickness of Sam's own voice nearly surprises him when he replies - "Not a chance." - and his laugh layers the room in a welcoming blanket of affection and care and an irrevocable sense of _home_.

Somewhere in the silence, Gabe's voice reaches up again and finds Sam's ears, wearing a smirk.

"I think I'm in love with you, Sam Winchester."

Sam's smile is slow and sweet, and Gabe, who's since unbent his legs and crawled up into Sam's naked lap, kisses Sam's jaw, close-lipped and modest, then let's his head fall against Sam's collarbone. Sam's own head floats down and lands gently against Gabe's. The edge of the granite slab of the island digs into Sam's spine, and it's slightly uncomfortable, but right now, Sam can't find a fuck to give.

Because Gabe is half asleep in his lap, they're both ass-naked in the middle of the kitchen, warm mid-summer sun pours in through the open window and dust swims around in the early afternoon light then dives out of view in the shadows, and their wedding is only two months away.

And Sam couldn't ask for anything better.


	8. A Job Lost is a Love Gained

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next day

"Hey, Sam," Lillith - Lily, she insists Sam calls her - greets him in a slightly too-friendly tone, wiggling her fingers at him. Sam smiles warmly at her - or tries to - and continues into the shoppe, rushing to fling off his coat in the back room.

A hand on his shoulder stops him short from grabbing his apron off the rack.

He turns slowly on his heel and is greeted with Abaddon's apologetic, almost pitying, turquoise eyes. She tilts her head and pats Sam's shoulder, then twitches her eyes toward the door to the right of the apron rack.

Sam follows Abby into her office and takes a seat in the chair in front of her desk, then watches her sit gingerly on the edge of her own chair.

"Sam...look, you're one of the best baristas in the state. You've been working here since you were...what, eighteen? And, don't get me wrong, you're my favourite. That's a fact. But...I feel like you're taking advantage of that fact, whether that be a conscious decision or not. You've been late to work a few too many times for me to let it slip," Abby pauses and takes in an extensive breath, and Sam's stomach drops, his face falling into an ashen mess of surprise and anger and poignancy and every other terrible emotion imaginable. "I have to let you go, Sam."

Sam's jaw clenches too tightly and his lip wobbles, his head hanging. He hears rather than sees Abby stand and then feels her arm slip around his shoulders. She rests her chin on his shoulder and whispers, "I'm sorry, Sam. I really am. There's just a point at which I can't accept the dilatory behaviour anymore."

Sam nods resolvedly and pushes out of the chair. He whips his jacket on on his way through the back room, and storms out through the front doors without so much as a backward glance.

******

Gabe hears the front door open and slam shut and he turns with his brows pulled down in concern. Sam saunters into the den, his lips trembling and his hands balled into fists, and, as he gets closer, Gabe can see the tears staining his cheeks.

"Sam? Baby?" He stands quickly and rushes around the couch and Sam collides with him, arms folding tightly around Gabe's neck and Gabe shakes his head as much as he can with his limited movement, as he's shoved flush against Sam, and his arms squeeze Sam's waist. "Oh, Sam, baby. What's wrong? What's happening?"

Sam only sobs and collapses against Gabe, and instead of holding his weight, Gabe sinks to the floor with Sam in his arms, and Sam curls into himself, laying in a ball in Gabe's lap and sobbing uncontrollably.

"Oh, Sam..." Gabe sighs and presses his lips to Sam's forehead. Whatever is getting to him is bad enough to make him break down in Gabe's lap in a bawling, shaking, babbling mess, and that's a good enough reason for Gabe to decide not to press the subject.

But then Sam speaks, his voice hoarse and nearly unintelligible.

"I lost my job. Abaddon's fired me and now...and now I can't help pay the bills, or help pay for anything, and I don't know what to do and-and--"

"Whoa! Whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa! Sam. Slow down, kiddo. Come on, look at me," Gabe interupts and lifts Sam's face to his. He slides his thumb across Sam's cheek and erases the stains of sadness. He shakes his head faintly and smiles down at Sam, his eyes red and puffy, his lips swollen, and tears meander down his cheeks and his nose runs. "Sam, I don't care about whether you can pay for anything. If you don't recall, my family has enough money to buy a thousand houses and a few yachts. And I'm working a double shift this Thursday, and I get plenty of money any other day I work, and, as I said, my family is basically rolling in cash like a pig in a bed of mud. We'll be fine, Sam."

Sam only continues to sit in a ball, pouting. But he nods and snuggles closer into Gabe's chest.

"Want me to play with your hair?" Gabe offers and Sam nods again, shifting silently on Gabe's thighs and turns his back toward the shorter man.

Gabe smiles auspiciously and reaches up and over Sam's head, to Sam's hairline, then picks up three chunks of long brown hair - hair that, at this point, hangs a little less than eight centimetres past Sam's broad shoulders - and starts a braid.

It takes about half an hour with Gabe's inexperienced fingers - a half an hour full of Sam's breaths slowing down, Gabe's hands continuously combing through Sam's hair, comforting hushes and words and bristles of skin or lips against skin, and Gabe coaxing a few small smiles out of Sam's despondent lips - to French braid Sam's hair, and it's sloppy and crooked, but at least Sam is more relaxed.

Gabe gets an idea and tells Sam to stand up and follow him. He stands, himself, bringing Sam up wth him, and grabs his retro design Polaroid camera from the side table. They walk silently through the front door and turn left. The stair case is devoid of any other human life and they make their way down from the top floor wordlessly. When they get to the street, they find Sam's car and Gabe helps Sam into the passenger seat, then runs back around to the right side of the car and hops into the driver's seat. They ride in silence, without music or talking, only entangled hands and Sam's fingers running over the bumps of his braid, until, ten minutes later, they pull up to an empty parking lot next to a long abandoned strip mall on the outskirts of the city, where a thirty acre plain, consisting completely of mixed wild flowers, rests.

Sam furrows his brows and turns his head to Gabe, a skeptical look playing across his features. Gabe smiles mischievously, clambers out of the car, runs around to the left side, opens the passenger door, and tugs at Sam's sleeve, trying to cajole Sam out of the car and into the field.

Sam finally steps out of the car and onto the pavement, and his work boots crunch the against the gravel.

Gabe drags him into the field and plucks the first daisy he can find, then turns to Sam, pulls him down by the collar of his t-shirt, and works the flower into the braid, careful not to undo it.

When his eyes drop back to Sam's face, he catches the slightest of blushes disrupting Sam's cheeks and a toothy smile, his lips. And Gabriel smiles back.

The spend the next hour picking wild flowers and weaving them into Sam's hair and snapping pictures of the artwork and of eachother - stealthily...kind of - and then two hours after that simply laying side by side in the grassy desert of the outer-city plain, tucked away behind a million strands of grass and a lost part of civilisation, and playing with each other's fingers, pointing at the happy, bubbling clouds that amble along in the light blue ocean of the sky. And Sam smiles so widely at Gabe, at the sky, at the day, and for the moment, everything bad is forgotten.

And Gabriel smiles back.


	9. Goodbye California, Hello Vermont [For a While]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two months later

Thursday.

The day of their flight to Vermont.

Their indefinite plan is to arrive at the hotel in Vermont, get settled in, stay the night, get married the next day, and then fly off to India for their honeymoon.

They're both already packed up, and they've included all the things they think are important beside clothes and money; Gabe's Polaroid, Sam's books for school.

And, as absolutely, almost offensively and esoterically cliche as it is, their love for each other has been packed as well.

Cheesy, right?

Well, tough shit.

Sam insisted that he take his books with them because they'll be gone for three weeks and school will not wait for him. Gabe had only rolled his eyes and shaken his head, and Sam had done a small victory dance in his head.

But he knows he won't be getting much studying done.

******

The aeroplane lands at precisely five o' clock eastern time in Vermont and Sam smacks Gabe's hand away from their luggage - he can carry all of it. Gabe whines and shoots him an annoyed look, but Sam knows damn well that Gabe loves it when Sam shows off his strength and especially when Sam takes control of situations.

Not really even in a sexual way. It's kind of....an admiration thing, a pride thing.

And Sam thinks he knows what Gabe's thoughts are; "Look at my fiancé! Look at him! He's so strong and capable. And guess what? He's mine. All mine."

Sam smiles at that imagery as he shoves the suitcases in the trunk of the taxi.

******

The hotel room is giant - maybe a little too big for a one night stay.

But neither of the men complain.

Especially not when they see the bed and the jacuzzi bathtub.

Sam drops their stuff next to the bed and falls back into the pillows. Memory foam engulfs his body and he breathes in a sigh of relief.

Those plane seats are fucking uncomfortable.

A few moments later, he feels the left side of the bed bend down under Gabe and then Gabe's hands sneaking beneath his shirt. He stifles a slow smile and cracks an eye open to peek down at Gabe.

"The look on your face right now is dangerously mischievous and I've decided, evidently too late, that what I've done with my hand was a sign of very poor decision making skills on my part," Gabe whispers, raising his eyebrows and giving Sam his best 'I'm still completely calm' look before Sam shifts abruptly and tackles Gabe into the bed.

They laugh uncontrollably and run their fingers through eachother's hair, stare into eachother's eyes, exchanging quiet smiles, and contemplating their time together and everything that that stands for, for at least twenty minutes before deciding to go to dinner early.

******

The bustling streets welcome them, and flashing neon restaurant signs beckon them toward all types of food, from anything as simple as McDonald's and Chinese take out, to things as fancy as Vietnamese delicacies and secret Russian recipes.

They waddle down the busy walkway, apologising to anyone they bump into - which is basically everyone - entwining their fingers so as not to lose eachother in the giant plurality of bodies, and they search for anything that looks okay, occasionally pointing out a foreign restaurant or a fast food diner they haven't been to in forever.

They eventually settle on a Japanese style restaurant - the sign reads in Japanese, "竹中さんのパンダの家" and below that in English, "Takenaka's Panda House" - and they are greeted by a man that Sam assumes is of Japanese descent, told to take off their shoes, and then seated at a low table surrounded on any select side by two pillows each.

Sam sits down cross legged across from Gabe and raises his eyebrows and the genuineness of the restaurant.

"I think I'm in love with Vermont," Sam whispers and sips on the steaming green tea he'd ordered, then shoots Gabe a taunting glance. "Careful. I might marry Vermont instead of you."

Gabe squints at him and retorts, "Careful. I might murder Vermont and then claw your eyes out so you can't check out any other states."

"Come on, now, Gabriel. I can't be a one state guy," Sam laughs, and their affectionate, quiet bickering eventually turns into noisy giggling and unnecessarily loud commentary as soon as they both stumble, drunk off their already half naked asses, into the hotel room.

Sloppy kisses are exchanged, and boisterously filthy sex rocks the bed into the wall, making - what are supposed to be completely inaudible - bed springs creak.

And neither of them regret a moment of it.

******

They roll lazily out of the giant bed the next morning at 11 a.m. after awaking to find the heavy bed spread kicked off onto the floor and what has to be at least twenty pillows in a nest-type mess around their entangled bodies.

They bathe together, hands intertwining and limbs hooking together and Gabe sitting back against the wall of the tub, his arms wrapped lazily around Sam's arms and chest, and Sam laying down on his side, the upper half of his body leaning against Gabe's chest, and his face nestled beneath the blonde man's chin as the moose's finger's play a tapping game on Gabe's skin.

Then they brush their teeth, comb through their hair - still slightly matted even after the bath - and repack their bags.

Finally, they dress in their tuxedos, Sam's white with a black undershirt and white tie, sporting a red rose in the breast pocket, and Gabe's an inverted version of Sam's, but with the same red rose.

They do all of this without so much as even a small word.

Gabe gently straightens Sam's tie with the prudence that comes with assuredness and love, and they head back down to the lobby, check out, and find the shiny black limo waiting out front for them.

They smile nervously at eachother as a man - a boy, really; probably no more than nineteen years of age - takes their bags and stuffs them into the small trunk. They climb into the back of the limo and scoot into the corner across from the door, gripping eachother's hands so tightly they both white-knuckle.

******

They arrive at the set up thirty-five minutes later, a small event tucked back into a wooded area resting just on the shore of the Ottauquechee river.

Dean greets Sam with a tight hug, the one he reserves only for Sam, then introduces him to a young woman - twenty-two at most - with soft features, fair skin, and light blonde hair, obviously naturally coloured and curly, telling him her name is Greta and she speaks barely any English; that she came her from Sweden five years ago with her father after her mother died in a horrific car accident.

Sam only nods and Gabe shoots him a knowing look.

The twins, Hannah and Anna, have, indeed, made it to the ceremony, and Gabe spots them bickering about the usual - politics, economy, racial discrimination - as they lean back against a high table in the far corner of the clearing, both holding a drink in their hands. They're known among the Novak family line for their ubiquitous intelligence and intense conversations, and Gabe has to admire their intellect. They tell him Rachel has been sent to rehab for a bout of unexpected anorexia.

Bobby arrives with a woman, introduced as Pamela. She has spirally brown hair and a deleterious smirk that suggests she knows something you don't. Bobby tells Sam that Rufus can't make it, after all.

Apparently, the man's gotten himself put under house arrest until he can learn not to drink and drive.

Michael greets Gabriel with a firm handshake - apparently not all that excited to see his own brother even after more than ten years of being MIA - and congratulates him on the marriage. Sam finds the man distastefully too business-like. In contrast, Castiel greets them both with an amiable hug and a warm, gummy smile. He wears a beige trench coat that catches Sam slightly off guard but that Sam presumes must be a prominent feature of his, considering there is no reaction to it amongst the family. It's just, Sam's never seen him wearing it before...the two times he's visited Cas with Gabe.

Balthazar also greets both of them with a hug and a quick exchange of very indubitable congratulations and an "I've missed you boys so much!" ('boys' referring to the Novak brothers). His British accent catches Sam off guard almost as much as Cas's trench coat did.

Meg surprises both of them with her presence, approaching with her arms spread wide and the mischievous smirk that always seems to worry her face. She gather them both into one tight hug, giggling and saying over and over how proud she is of them, until a pale skinned, red-headed girl and a girl with long, wavy blonde hair walk up behind her.

She introduces the red-head as Charlie, whom Gabe already seems to be acquainted with, and who wears a dress a little too casual for a wedding and, Sam notices, has headphones dangling precariously from her neck. Despite her apparent awkwardness, she smiles warmly, the freckles on her cheeks rising as she does so. Meg then introduces the young blonde woman as Jo, Ellen's daughter, who smiles politely and nods once to acknowledge them. Meg tells Sam that Charlie is one of the female strippers on the second floor that she's grown maybe a little too close to over the years.

Meg finds her way to Castiel after that, greeting him with - what seems to be the usual - "Hello, Clarence" and a more than friendly hug.

Lucifer even manages to make a guest appearance, and Gabe hugs him so tightly, clinging onto him for so long, that Sam thinks he may kill the man. But in all reality, Gabe's not seen Lucifer in person for three and a half years. So it makes sense.

"Wow, everyone and their mother is here," Gabe smiles, his eyes surveying the calm festivity with a sort of thankfulness and pride. "This is amazing."

But Sam can't seem to tear his own eyes away from Gabe's face to give a crap about the other people milling about around them.

His gaze is glued to Gabe, gracelessly and blatantly admiring the shorter man's... well...everything. Because damnit all if Gabe isn't the most beautiful sight in the entire mid-afternoon-sunlit clearing.

Gabe catches him staring and sneaks a small peck onto Sam jaw.

"I love you, Sam Winchester," he whispers and Sam bites his lip, trying not to smile as idiotically as he is now, his eyes fluttering down. He stands with his hands his pockets, and Gabe's fingers wrapped around his elbow, for another few minutes before they decide that everyone who's planned on arriving has arrived, and they start the ceremony.

******

Their kiss at the end of the wedding was cheered at with everything from adoring awh's from Charlie and Jo to suggestive ooo's from Dean and Pamela to a mix between the two from Meg, specifically.

But the crowd's reaction had never mattered less to them in that moment, because they had just become official partners.

And that was enough to block out everything and everyone else.

Their flight to India doesn't depart until eight p.m. so they've decided to meander around on the darkening streets of the inner city. They stop occasionally to get close up looks of interesting items they never see in California. They step into one store decorated in tie-dye clothing and peace sign posters, and end up buying matching necklaces, each sporting the 'Ohm' symbol on a small, circular, bronzed plate hanging from a black cord.

They continue through the streets with their hands clasped and without a care in the world.

******

India is brightly coloured, cultured, and diverse. Temples and palaces stand proudly and spot the country, and fruit stands and people crowd the dirt walkways.

Sam and Gabe visit three temples and an open palace and spend their days mulling around in the masses of people, snapping pictures, capturing a hundred different perfect moments with the Polaroid, and they stay their nights in a large, beautifully decorated hotel, just as spacious as their hotel room the night before the wedding.

At one point, they decide to take a small plane from New Dehli in western Uttar Pradesh to south-western Tamil Nadu, renting out a small motel room in Puducherry and spending three and a half days on the beach.

Gabe sneaks his phone out of his pocket and turns on the recorder. He tapes Sam for ten minutes before Sam realises what's happening and flips of the camera. When Gabe doesn't turn it off, the taller man backs up a few steps and charges at Gabe, skidding to a stop at the last second and send a stinging spray of sand across Gabe's body.

They laugh and kiss and Gabe records this two, a bit absently, and when they watch it later they'll discover that the kiss was only half in the frame, but that it was a beautiful one, nonetheless.

Sam smiles into the camera and whispers, "I love you so much, Gabriel."

The words are almost ephemeral, even to the camera, mumbled and secret and loving. And then Sam wraps Gabe in a tight hug and when he pulls back, the camera still rolling, Sam mumbles something else, something that shatters Gabe's heart in the best way possible.

"Letting go of these little things doesn't seem very fair, does it?"

Gabe cuts off the camera after that, tears threatening his eyes.

They fly back to New Dehli with tan lines on their thighs and excited smiles on their lips.

******

On their second to last day in India, they catch another plane ride - this one to Maharashtra and make their way to the heart of Mumbai.

The Siddhivinayak Temple is at the top of their list of places to visit, seconded only by the Kanheri Caves, but they end up stopping at the Esselworld theme park for more than a decent amount of time before heading out to the Jehangir Art Gallery as per Gabe's request. Sam sneaks Polaroid photos of Gabe admiring the artwork and when Gabe realises, Sam smirks and catches one last picture of the shorter man before he stomps toward Sam and snatches the camera then pecks Sam on the cheek and runs off with it in hand to let his eyes wander over more paintings.

They do eventually find their way to their predetermined destinations, but not for as long as they were expecting they'd have.

Their last day ends with a shopping spree in downtown Mumbai, and about a thousand more Polaroid snapshots, including one of Sam with his hands placed just so over his head, and the Global Vipassana Pagoda in the background above his hair so it looks like he's wearing it as a hat.

Their flight home to California is seventeen hours of quiet love and and leaning heads and brushing hair and intertwined fingers and both men drifting through a state of half-consciousness.

******

Sam flips on the lights as he stumbles through the front door and into their loft. Gabe wanders in after him, his eyes falling closed and opening again as he fights off a sleep that's been waiting since India.

Sam chucks their stuff on the couch after taking out the Polaroid, and decides that they'll deal with unpacking tomorrow.

Right now, it's one in the afternoon and they want to fucking sleep.

They don't bother taking off more than their shirts, and they curl up together on top of the comforter.

They fall asleep as a messy pile of entangled limbs and with Sam's lips pressed tiredly to Gabe's forehead.


	10. A Tragic Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year and seven months later

Gabriel takes a deep breath and opens the letter with shaking hands.

He and Sam have been talking about Gabe going to college for some time now - to get a Doctoral in Medicine; to be like his mother - and he'd applied to several universities.

This letter, specifically, is from New York University, and his jaw is clenching tighter than he ever thought possible.

He's decided to open it while Sam's not home, so he can surprise his husband if he gets an acceptance.

Gabe pulls out the letter slowly and unfolds it even more slowly.

He reads through the first few lines and his eyes widen to an inhuman width, and he drops the letter and performs what's probably the dorkiest victory dance that's ever been performed but he couldn't care less because _he just got into NYU_.

 _Thank you, mum_ , Gabe thinks, tilting his head skyward, though he really doesn't believe in heaven or God or angels. But, again, he doesn't care, because he's too excited to be able to.

******

Sam returns home bearing a rather large bouquet of flowers, and in the other hand, hauling their usual groceries.

"To be honest, I saw the letter sitting on the table, and I just kind of assumed it was an acceptance one," Sam explains, watching Gabe as the shorter man admires the flowers in his hand, and as Gabe's eyes flip up to meet Sam's.

"You sure think highly of me, sailor," his response is quiet and warm, grateful for Sam's presence in his life. He turns to a cabinet and shuffles through the vases on the top shelf before finding one wide enough to fit the bundle of stems into. He fills it with water and proceeds auspiciously, adding, "Well, you're right to be."

He turns back and sets the vase, overflowing with flowers, on the island in the kitchen and lifts his eyes slowly to Sam's face.

When they get there, they see not shock, but pride and excitement and adoration, and all of the above.

And Gabe couldn't be happier.

******

A month later, the two sit, side by side and facing eachother with crossed legs, on the couch, the telly flickering absently over their faces as a background noise, and their bodies hunched over a game of chess.

Gabe had insisted earlier that Sam teach him how to play, because he wants to seem as smart as Sam. That conversation had ended it Sam giving Gabe an annoyed look and then repeatedly kissing him and assuring him they are equally intelligent.

Gabe loved the attention.

So Sam had set up the board and the pieces, and gave Gabe an overview of how it worked, and about fifty minutes after that, here they are, with Sam scratching his jaw and raising his eyebrows, and Gabe with what is probably a hilariously confused look on his face.

Sam shoots Gabe a knowing look and he ends up smacking the game off the couch. Gabe listens to the pieces clatter against the glass coffee table and its legs for a second before Sam jumps at him, tackling him into the couch and attaching his lips to Gabe's neck.

"I," Sam starts and kisses Gabe's neck. "Love." Gabe's jaw. "You." Gabe's cheek. "So." Gabe's forehead. "Fucking." Gabe's nose. "Much." The last word is quieter than the others and Sam's nearly green eyes melt and drip into Gabe's gold ones, and for a moment they just stare at eachother. They love eachother and cherish eachother and admire eachother and understand eachother. And they smile at eachother.

And Sam smiles at Gabe, full of elegance and power and amour and grace and desire and tranquility, and never faltering for a second.

And Gabe smiles back.

******

"Sam..." Gabe speaks quietly, his voice a broken whisper and he reaches up to place his hand on Sam's chest, but thinks better of it.

Sam's face falls at the way Gabe says his name and his brows fall too, hanging over his confused eyes as he takes a step back.

"Gabe...what is it," Sam's voice is slow and filled with discontent and chagrin.

Gabe's head hangs listlessly from his neck and his lips part unwillingly.

"Sam, you have to understand. The University is in New York...I have to leave," Gabe whispers, raking his hand through his hair. "Well...I can just come with--"

"No, Sam. You can't. You have to finish school here. In California, at Stanford."

"No--"

"I have to go, Sam."

"No!"

"Without you."

"Why didn't you tell me?!" Sam raises his voice and Gabe flinches. "Why didn't you just leave before?!"

"Because I didn't even _think_  about it until now!" Gabe yells back and Sam growls.

"Why couldn't you just leave it alone, Gabe. Why'd you have to go off and be smart and want a different life--" Sam's words are too brash so Gabe cuts him off.

"I don't _want_  a different life! I want _this_  life! With you! But I can't have that. I can't, because you can't have your cake and eat it too, and I can't be two places at once and--"

"So you're choosing college over me. Over your husband," Sam's voice is solemn and defeated and it cracks and crumbles and so does Gabe's heart.

"Sam, you know it's not like that," Gabe pleads and ambles forward, reaching a hand out again. Sam slaps it away and gives Gabe the worst look he could possibly give him; betrayal. It cross through his eyes and makes his lips wobble. "We knew, deep down, whether you like it or not, that something like this was bound to happen if I decided to start college. We knew, Sam, and we still went through with it--"

"No,  _you_  went through with it, Gabe. This was _your_ choice...and you chose wrong."

"Sam don't say things like that. We can call eachother. We can...Skype, or something. Something, anything. Anything other than what you're about to do," Gabe sobs suddenly, every fibre of his being clenching up in fear and anxiety and guilt and he gives Sam a pleading look. "Please."

"If you're going to leave, just do it," Sam's voice is as broken as Gabe's, but it's cold and unwelcoming. "I'm going out and you have a choice; if you're here when I get back, we can sit down together and talk this through. If you're not...well, then we both know."

Sam leaves without another word and Gabe stands in the living room, behind the couch, completely speechless.

He stands there for at least ten minutes before anything happens. And then a loud sob rips through his throat and ripples the still air like a boulder hitting a lake and he doesn't even have the energy to stand anymore so crumples to the floor like a crushed soda can and crouches there, bent over himself, his arms holding his spasming chest and his breaths wracking his body and coming out in ragged sobs.

He shakes his head over and over, back and forth, back and forth, his face contorting into something inhuman looking, too distressed to care that his anguish shows.

He falls into the back of the couch and curls up in a ball on the floor, still bawling, and he ends up laying there for an hour, a billion thoughts racing through his mind at light speed.

Why? Why did he have to be such an ass and apply to a college outside of California? Why did he have to let Sam down like that?

Why did he have to forget everything that's happened?

Why did he have to let go of those little things?

Why does he, after everything that's just been said and every emotion that's been portrayed, still want to go to New York?

Why is he like this?

He doesn't get up.

******

Sam comes home hours later, sometime around midnight, Gabe guesses, half-drunk and tear stained. When he sees Gabe on the floor, he collapses next to the older man and cries into his hands, his voice already too hoarse to make any more noise.

He kisses Gabe's temple before scooping the smaller man up into his arms and carrying him to the bed room. He sets Gabe down gingerly beneath the covers and tucks them up to his chin, then climbs into the bed himself and they cry into eachother, their hands holding tight and their sharp breaths stirring the night air.

They fall asleep with tears in their eyes and words that they're unable to say in their mouths.

******

Gabe shifts slowly beneath the comforter and is conscientious as to not let the bed creak as he stands. He packs his things silently, leaving enough money for Sam to get by for at least a year, and three Polaroid photos.

He stands beside the bed, watching Sam sleep; his customer, then his boyfriend, then his husband...and now...

Well, he doesn't know.

But after the things that were said last night, he can't stay. He can't be here and act like none of it happened.

He's not choosing college over his Sam.

At least that's what he's trying to convince himself.

But all he knows is that he _shouldn't_ stay.

Not like this and not under these circumstances.

He brushes Sam's hair back and kisses his forehead, then walks out the door without a backward glance.

And he leaves his entire existence sleeping in a white bed.

It breaks his heart to think that that bed will be empty when his existence wakes up.


	11. A New Hello

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three years later

Sam greets Jessica with a kiss on the cheek and a warm smile. It's been almost three years since Gabe left without a word.

Sam constantly recalls that he woke with Gabe's name on his lips and then he couldn't find Gabe anywhere. Sam had broken down in the living room and cried for hours, shaking his head, mumbling to himself that Gabe would come back, of course he'd come back. He had to come back, he had to, because...because Gabe was his and he was Gabe's and they belonged to eachother and they were meant to be together, meant to sleep beside eachother and cry together and dream together and laugh and smile and fight and make up and...and they weren't supposed to end like that. Not then, not that way, or ever or any way.

And Gabe wasn't answering his cell and Sam had spent months in bed, the first few weeks of which were filled with sobbing and being unable to eat. It wouldn't matter even if he wanted to, because he couldn't get up; he just couldn't, he didn't have the energy, or the willpower, or....or anything. He didn't have anything anymore. He didn't have a thing to live for, because Gabe was gone. He was just...gone, not there anymore, disappeared, nonexistent. And so what was the point.

Sam probably would have starved himself to death if it hadn't been for Jessica.

He didn't leave the apartment or the bed room or reall his position on the bed, even, for five weeks and when he finally did get up, it was to go answer the front door. The person who had been knocking was Jess, who lived on the floor beneath Sam and noticed no one had been down from there in weeks, and she was just checking to make sure he was okay.

After that, they started talking more, and Jess had started rebuilding Sam, picking up the pieces of his shattered heart that Gabe had left behind and glueing them back together, slowly but surely. About a month after they met, Sam kissed her.

It was an accident, really. They were both drunk, watching the Twilight series and laughing uncontrollably at the ridiculous story-line. And when Bella and Edward had kissed, Sam had looked at Jess and said in all seriousness something along the lines of, "What if that happened to us? Like what if I were some gay lookin' vampire and you were some hot human chick and we just ended up together."

And Jess had laughed. But then it had gotten serious again and she'd said something like, "You do look slightly gay."

And they'd laughed again.

And then Sam had kissed her.

And neither of them really know, to this day, how it got there. But it did. And everything has been so normal since then. They visit eachother constantly, play board games on the linoleum stair case and have tickle fights out in the hallway. They watch dumb movies, happy movies, sad movies, teenage angst movies (which they reminisce especially about), comedy movies, romantic movies. They take long walks around the city and window shop.

But mostly, they talk.

About school. About love and dreams. About goals for their lives. About anything from as joking as dying their hair weird colours and worms wearing tiny sweaters to anything as serious as death and problems among their families. And Sam's recovery from eating almost nothing in those five weeks he didn't leave the bed, crying into his own pillow and gathering Gabe's into his arms and burying his nose in it. Knowing it smelled like him. Knowing it would break him into even smaller pieces. Not being able to care in the slightest.

And, bit by bit, Jess has restored Sam.

But Sam has realised something.

It wasn't in a snap of a finger; it was a very slow realisation that came to him over a month and a half, and now he has a choice to make.

The realisation was that, no matter which way he turns the situation, no matter the amount of convincing he tries to do of himself, it always circles back to the fact that Sam is only using Jess. To get over Gabe. He sees her as another Gabe, a more tangible one.

And he simply can't stay with her if that's the reason he's there in the first place.

And so, his decision is whether to stay. Break Jess' heart like Gabe broke his, or stay and live with the burden of the fact that he's only there because she reminds him so much of Gabe.

The blonde hair, the easy laugh, the mischievous smirk, the great sense of humour, the uncanny ability to take a joke about darker things or about herself, the constant reassuring that everything's okay, everything's okay and Sam will be okay, and he's so smart and so amazing and he'll be okay.

And, frankly, it's unfair to both of them.

To Jess, because of obvious reasons.

But to Sam, because it's slowly breaking him down, knowing Jess is the only reason he's still alive, but that he's really just looking for a figure of Gabe.

And now, he sits across from Jess at their usual coffee shoppe, sipping black tea and preparing himself for the inevitable hurt in her eyes when he tells her he can't stay.

She bites her lip and looks down, then smiles and looks back up with a strange understanding in her eyes - strange because what does she have to understand?

"Sam, I know why we came here today," she whispers and his stomach drops, his racing heart skidding to a dead stop in his chest and his face falling in realisation.

"What," the word is quiet, slipping silently from Sam's mouth and across the table, then waving solemnly at Jess.

"I know. Sam. And it's okay. I know I'm a constant reminder of Gabe. I know I made you better and that you feel guilty about it. I know you want to leave and I know why," she reaches across the table and her hand closes over Sam's gently, her face serene and ever-beautiful. "And it's okay."

His lips part slowly and he remembers everything they've been through together.

That first week after they met, when Sam had a complete meltdown and had started bawling, screaming into a pillow. He'd even thrown his glass - the one that had previously held his many shots of alcohol - across the room and watched it shatter against the wall, and stood there, breathing heavily, balling his fists, his body trembling, and allowing his face to contort with anger and anguish. And Jess had watched the whole thing and had simply, calmly, walked over and run her hand in circles over Sam's back, holding his arm with the other hand and watching him cry. She hadn't said a word, and Sam thinks that because she's smart as all fuck, and knows better. Knows that words would have been fruitless and vapid.

He remembers when he found the Polaroids and how, after tucking them away in the bottom drawer beside his bed beneath stacks of old books, months later, he was able to bring himself to look at them. One was - is - of he and Gabe together three months after they met, standing and leaning, respectively, against the stripper's stage after closing time, and they'd gotten caught off guard by Meg, who'd stolen the camera, but they were still smiling, which means they were smiling at each other before it was taken. The second one is of Sam, smiling faintly and glancing down at his hands in his lap as he sits cross legged on the dirt ground, surrounded by the tiny legs of the earth that are the grass and flower stems, and he sports the fifty-two tiny wild flowers Gabe had woven into his braided hair and the most serene type of soft evening sunlight engulfs him and the flowers. And the third one, his favourite to this day, is of Gabe, in India, dressed in shorts and a white t-shirt and a pair of sunglasses which are pulled back over his hair, and he stands in front of a painting at the art museum they ended up going to, his face full of serene awe and his eyes concentrated fully and completely on the painting. Sam remembers taking that one, remembers it was the last one he took of Gabe at the museum before Gabe realised Sam was taking pictures and snatched the camera from the taller man, then stalked off to the next picture. And he remembers how he was sorting through those books covering those photos and how he discovered them, still sitting there, a little crinkled and stained at that point, waiting for him and how he'd dropped everything else and pulled out the photos and sat back on his heels and simply stared at them for minutes or hours or days or years he doesn't know, but Jess had to come in and check on him and when she realised what he was looking at, she'd simply smiled and balanced her chin on his should and stared at them with him. No complaining that they were of Sam and Gabe and not her. Not a word about Sam being completely unable to speak, no questions asked as to why he still had them. Still has them, even now.

He remembers the time when they drove past the field where Gabe had put flowers in Sam's braided hair and where they'd lain for hours, talking about nothing and dreaming about everything, and Sam had lost control of the steering wheel in seeing the field and had swerved and Jess had told him to pull off to the side of the road and there, she had hugged him. She had simply held him. For at least half an hour, trying to calm him. And then she had taken over the wheel and driven them, instead of to the theatre to watch a local play, back to the apartment building, and when they'd gotten there, she'd helped him up all eighteen flights of stairs and then into his bed, and she'd sat there, next to him as he drifted off into a dismal sleep, brushing her hands through his hair.

He remembers the trip to the beach and how she'd worn a flowing white sun dress and her best smile, and how he'd recorded her dancing along the shoreline, her bare feet sinking into the sand and her arms flung out to her sides as she'd twirled about and giggled over nothing. And then they'd danced together and shoved eachother into the water and ended up having a splash fight and then laid down on their towels next to eachother, holding hands with their heads tilted together, and their eyes counting the clouds in the sky - Sam recalls there were very few.

He remembers how she helped him find a new job, working at the most popular bar in the city - Master's Strip Club and Bar...the one Gabe used to work at. And he remembers how, when he'd first started, it was mortifying...to have to walk in there when there are so many memories stuck to the walls and to the customer's faces. But Meg, Ellen, and Jody had welcomed him with open arms and apologetic smiles, and have been making so many exceptions for him. Because they all know what happened, and they all know the toll it's taken on him. And they've all been there for him, this entire time, even now. And Sam still thinks that Meg was the most broken up about it. She hadn't left his side for a minute while he worked. She'd been there and hugged him even when he thought he didn't need a hug but she knew he did.

And he slingshots back to the present in a fit of realisation that Jess is staring at him with expectant eyes.

"What?" Sam asks and she smiles lovingly.

"I said, I'd love to still be friends. You're great to talk to and so much fun to be around and I don't want it to be awkward," she reiterates and Sam watches her face for any sign that she's broken up about this. Finding none, he nods, smiles back, and kisses her hand.

"Thank you," he says, his eyes falling to the floor. "Thank you so much."

"Gabe called me, Sam."

Sam's head jerks up and his face remains ashen, and he blanches at the news.

"What?" He demands, his voice quiet and harsh - not angry. Just confused.

"He called me. Because he couldn't get a hold of you and I told him you changed your number. And he told me to tell you...he's missed you. Too much," her eyelashes have fluttered down, lidding her eyes, and she lifts them back up and looks at Sam through them.

Sam can't breathe. He can't speak or move. He can't do anything but stare at the table with parted lips and unresponsive eyes.

He stands abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the tile floor, and he leaves money on the table, and rushes out the door. Jess sighs and follows after him and catches his hand when he reaches for the door handle on the car. He turns to her and she gives him a knowing smile as he attempts to calm his harsh breaths.

"Would you like to talk to him?" She inquires softly, her voice made of sunshine and a child's curiousity.

Would you like to talk to him.

No.

"Yes," Sam replies quickly and she leads him around to the passenger seat, and drives them home herself. When they get to Sam's loft, she pulls out her cellphone, presses the dial-back option, and slips out through the door, leaving Sam to speak with Gabe alone.

Sam holds the phone in front of his face for a second before hesitantly bringing it up to his ear, the sinking, knotting feeling in his stomach a little more than he can handle.

The phone rings once, twice, three times. Four times. Sam almost hangs up. But then, halfway through the fifth ring, the other line opens and Gabe's excited voice fills Sam's ear, and he nearly falls to his knees at the very sound of Gabe's words.

"Jessica! Has Sam said anything yet?" He waits for a response, and Sam can't speak, he can't breathe, and goddmanit, he wants to let Gabe know it's him. "Hello? Jessica?"

"Gabe," Sam cries into the phone. And then he does collapse. He does because he can't continue to strain his wobbling knees, and so he sinks to the carpeted floor, his trembling hand clinging to the back of the couch for dear life and Sam imagines this is what Gabe looked like when Sam left for the bar the night before Gabe left.

"Sam..." Gabe's voice his whispered and strained and crackling and there's a silence on the line for so long that Sam thinks Gabe must have hung up. He must have, because who the hell wants to talk to their ex, right? But then Gabe speaks again and his words are strangled. "Oh my god, Sam. Sam. Jesus Christ, you have no idea. You have no idea, I've missed you. Oh god. And Sam. Oh my god I'm so sorry I'm so..." His voice cracks and he's started crying and he can't seem to pull himself together and fuck it if that doesn't just shatter Sam's heart all over again. "So sorry. Sorry I left. I'm sorry I left." The line goes silent for a moment and then Gabe sobs into the phone and Sam can tell he's having trouble holding it to his ear.

"Come home," is all Sam manages to gasp out before the tears come and choke him, tightening their fingers around his throat and forcing him to wrap an arm around his stomach and curl into himself, and fuck, the sobs are too strong, too powerful and now he doesn't even have the energy to sit up. "Come home to me. Please." He pleads. His mouth contorts and his eyes squint and he bawls in the worst way possible; so energy depriving that he can't even make any noise, and so he's just sitting there, heaving air and trying not to drool and pressing a shaking hand against his eye. "God, please, come home."

"I will Sam. I will, I promise. I'll buy a plane ticket. I'll-I'll fly to you, I will. I will and when I get there...Sam we can be happy together. We can-" his words choke off in another son and he tries again. "We can be happy together again. You can be mine again. And we'll talk about everything. We'll talk about what happened. We'll talk about it and...we'll work through it," his voice becomes quieter when he adds, "I'm coming home to you."

"Don't let go--"

"I never did."

And Sam lays there on the floor, crying with Gabe, imagining he's lying next to the shorter man.

Imagining it's the night before he left all over again.

And crying harder.


	12. An Old Hello

Gabe makes an easy deal with the salesman at a New and Used car dealership and sells it for a decent amount of money, then calls for a taxi to the airport. He buys a plane ticket for the next flight to New York.

When he gets there he makes quick work of his new life, finding a job and a loft easily enough. Starting school.

He settles in. But not comfortably.

Every day is an internal struggle, a battle within his mind, a war. And he's losing.

The guilt. The shame. The feeling of emptiness and of losing something too important to lose.

 _Doesn't seem fair to let go of the little things, does it?_ How could he be such an incompetent piece of shit?

How could he leave and leave that burden of an anvil swinging over Sam's head, the rope that it's hanging from ready to snap at any moment? And he hasn't a doubt in his mind that Sam's having it no better. Probably worse. But he'll come around.

Gabe knows he will. Gabe knows Sam will perk up and realise that what Gabe did was for the best, was to save Sam.

And that it was the right thing to to do...

Wasn't it.

He goes through his days mechanically, habitually, which is easier than it sounds both because he's built a routine and because he can't find the energy to do things any other way.

When he gets an A on one of the biggest tests of the year, he doesn't even smile.

And then, one day, sitting in class and listening to the English professor's monotonous voice droning on about...something... Gabe's arm shifts and his pencil falls off the desk. It hits the floor with a wooden thud and he blinks slowly at it, stares at it for two whole minutes, swallowing the tears swelling in his throat, and then a hand picks it up and places it in Gabe's own hand. He doesn't thank them.

He continues to stare at the pencil.

Fallen and cracked, sitting helplessly in the palm of his hand.

And he cries. His face twists and turns and he lets out a quiet, choked sob, gathers his things quickly, and rushes out of the classroom, his back heaving and his trembling fingers fumbling to hold on tightly enough to his books and papers.

When he gets to the hallway, he accidentally bumps into a trash can and everything falls from his hands. And, instead of picking it up, he sinks to his knees and sobs into his fingers, a hand clamping over his mouth to muffle the sobs and one pressing against his eyes.

There's nobody else in the hallway to see him like this, and for that, he doesn't know whether to be grateful or scared.

He somehow ends up back at his loft and finds himself breaking out of his daze as he clambers into his bed and curls up on his side. He falls asleep moments later, too emotionally and physically exhausted to care about staying in the waking world.

Gabe catches himself dreaming constantly of Sam.

The dreams are sweet and good in the beginnings. They're well lit and beautiful and Sam and the apartment back home are both just as he left them. And Sam smiles warmly at him, and Gabe finds his way into Sam's arms and they hold eachother for a very long time and when they let go, and Gabe looks up, it's suddenly nighttime, and they're curled up next to eachother in the field of wild flowers they went to that one day and spent hours in. But in his dreams it's night, and the sky is the perfect shade of navy blue and and moon is a sandy white, and they hold hands and count the stars in the sky. And Gabe hears Sam's head shifting and so he looks over at Sam to find that Sam is already staring at him with tired eyes. And then he kisses Sam, and Sam disintegrates into a billion teeny stars floating up into the night sky. And Gabe wakes up.

And he refers to them as nightmares when he recalls those dreams; not things to be to be happy about, because each time, he wakes up crying.

 _Sam smiles at him. And Gabe smiles back_.

******

Present day-

Gabe's cell buzzes against the metal chair and he exudes himself from the depths of the classroom and checks the caller ID as soon as he reaches the hallway.

His stomach drops when he sees it's Jessica, Sam's new girlfriend. He'd looked up Sam's apartment building and found the number for the person who lived on the floor below Sam, and decided to call this Jessica Moore instead. As it turns out, they'd gotten closer after Gabe had left, which Gabe had been happy to hear that first time he called Jessica.

And now, she's calling back and he's anxious about what the news might be.

He presses the button to take the call and smiles into the phone, tries to sound like he's not just been crying silently in the back corner of the classroom.

"Jessica! Has Sam said anything yet?" He asks and after a very long moment of silence his smile drops and he says, "Hello? Jessica?"

What a surprise when, instead of the young woman's feminine voice, Sam's broken whisper reaches through the phone and claws at Gabe's ear.

Their conversation is fleeting, full of tears and Gabe's heart unraveling again, his energy faltering and him having to crouch with a hand over his mouth to stifle his sobs, and it's full of new promises and dead fears and the reignition of a flame that burns so brightly and so hotly that Gabe has to shield his eyes and jump up and away from it.

He leaves the campus without going back to the classroom to get his things and he packs everything he brought with him along with a few new things and without some things that he's gotten rid of over the years into a large suitcase and calls for a taxi.

He never got a car because he doesn't live far from campus and he doesn't mind walking, even when it snows, so he doesn't have to worry about selling it this time around.

He's a habit of leaving without saying anything.

When he reaches the airport he goes through the same actions as last time and as he settles into the plane seat, he closes his eyes and imagines Sam's broad grin when he sees Gabe again.

And Gabe smiles back.

******

He arrives in California five hours later with his bag in his hand and a new resolve in his eyes.


	13. A Reunited Love

Sam fusses tendentiously over the already crystal clear glass, scrubbing furiously at a stain that's not there. Really, he's only trying to get Gabriel off his mind, to erase their sobbing phone conversation from his mind and trying to concentrate on his work instead of the fact the love of his life is coming back to California - giving up the life he wanted for the life he once had, the life he left...for something better than Sam...

The guilt slams Sam in the stomach like a knee to the groin and shatters his thin glass heart. He's so taken aback by the realisation that he can't breathe, and he slams the glass down on the counter and braces himself with both hands gripping the edge of the wood, his back hunching and his stomach heaving.

He stares morosely at the glass between his long index finger and thumb and the towel still clutched tightly in the other hand, and gulps in huge breaths. His jaw is set as hard as it can be, but his lip dances frightfully and his body trembles. No one is around to help him, which he doesn't know whether to be scared or joyful about.

Sam shakes his head and stands up straight again. Whatever happens tomorrow, happens. And maybe he can try to change that. But whatever's already happened can't be dwindled upon, can't be altered. So why bother wallowing in the feeling of culpability for the past when he can wallow in the feeling of trepidation for seeing Gabe in person for the first time in three years.

He wants so badly to pick up the pieces of their lost love and put it back together himself, all at once - he wants to be two beings as one again. But he knows he can't do that, knows this will take time, and that's what scares him the most. Not Dean yelling at him for going back to someone who's broken Sam's heart. Not Meg yelling at him for the same reasons or at Gabe for obvious reasons. Not Castiel's pitying glance and sad smile when he finds out. Not that this might not work; that it's a completely rational and likely possibility that they will fall apart again. Not his own emotions hanging over him or Gabe's emotions or anything of the sort. No, none of these things. It's the fact that they will have to rebuild themselves very carefully and, therefore, very slowly.

Slowly. Which means there's more time, a longer period in which something or someone could have the chance to break them again.

And Sam thinks he may not be able to take that again. And he knows this is all so dangerous, and it terrifies him to even think about how many possible ways this could go so horrifyingly wrong.

So he tries not to.

Sam balances the glass on top of the nine other glasses in the wooden cupboard then closes the door and whips the towel over his shoulder in one swift motion. He crosses from behind the counter to the rest of the room, scattered with tables and chairs and dirty plates. 

He sighs; still so much work to be done.

With everything.

A creak from the dance floor makes him blink up at the still very brightly lit area and he squints to more clearly see the form sneaking toward him, cloaked in shadow.

Meg steps out into the light of the diner section and smiles sorrowfully at the tall man.

"I can tell you wanna be sleeping, Sam," she glides the rest of the way over and brushes pieces of slightly-too-long hair from Sam's face before her hand falls to his chest and she's close enough that she has to crane her neck to look at him. She smiles empathetically, lifts his hand and presses a kiss to his knuckles. There's nothing sexual or flirty or romantic about it, only Meg being the mum she should be, Meg being sweet and feeling bad about Sam being here so late. "Go home, sailor."

When Sam hesitates, she flicks his chest, snatches the towel from his shoulder, throws it over her own, and turns her back to Sam, her head still swiveled toward him. She smirks, her arm hanging from the towel.

"Seriously, Sam. Get some rest. You've got some stuff to work through tomorrow, huh?"

Sam's smile falls and his eyes go wide, his lips parting.

"How did you..."

"I just know thinks, kiddo. And trust me, if he hurts you again, I'm going to kick his ass to Jupiter and back. He's sweet, and I love him - we all do. But you didn't deserve what he did to you," she frowns and draws her brows in, then begins walking around the room and picking up plates, and mumbles under her breath as she goes, "Ever."

Sam nods, sucks in his lower lip, almost argues, but decided against it, and, instead, settles on a quiet goodnight and an exchange of sad smiles. He turns, picksing up his jacket from one of the bar stools, and exits through the metal doors into the crisp February night.

The breeze whistles against his spine, and he rubs his hands together, surveying the street he's come to know all too well as he zips up his jacket. He begins the brisk trek toward his car, but stills mid-step when he catches a rustle of sound behind him. Sam doesn't breathe for a moment, only listening for another sound, and, hearing none, continues to his car. He's reaching for the door when he hears it again, this time closer, he turns slowly, eyeing the sidewalk behind him with wary eyes.

"Hello?" He croaks into the late night air, his heart pounding. He shrugs lightly and turns back to the car.

He's about to step in when a hand grasps his right shoulder and nearly yanks him backward. He stumbles back from the car, turns swiftly with his fists in the air and nearly punches the figure behind him.

The only reason Sam doesn't swing his fist out is because the hand is attached to someone he knows.

Gabriel stands with a hand in his jacket pocket and a hopeful, terrified, somber regard in his eyes...and oh, Jesus fucking Mary and Joseph sweet baby Christ, those eyes. They're golden as ever with the stars glaring down at the two men from the their beds nestled high in the navy blue of a nearly midnight sky.

Gabe swallows and his lips part and a tear falls from a molten-honey eye, and he says in the most broken voice Sam's ever heard, "Hi, kiddo."

And Sam takes in the sharpest breath of air he's ever taken in and his legs buckles and he nearly falls back against his car. But, instead, he launches forward, throws himself into Gabe's waiting arms with the last bit of energy he has at the moment, and buries his face in Gabe's neck. There, he sobs, freely, uncontrollably, unable to stop to breathe for even a second. His tears soak into Gabe's fabric jacket, an olive green one Sam's never seen on him or around before, and if it's new, he knows he should care about ruining it, but he simply doesn't.

Gabe holds him and cries into Sam's own shoulder - or his chest, which is really the highest Gabe can reach - with his head burrowed into Sam's collarbone.

"I'm so sorry," Gabe tries to gasp out between sobs, and it's completely unwarranted, but he turns his face upward kisses Sam's jaw and Sam just smiles and sniffles and gazes down with those luxurious hazel-green eyes of his.

"I know," Sam whispers and he tilts his head down, craning his neck and pressing their foreheads together. "I know. I know you are."

"Please don't forgive me yet."

"Shut up, Gabe."

He does.

******

The ride to Sam's apartment is silent, save for jazz music sobbing quietly in the periphery of their ears. Sam wants desperately to twine his fingers through Gabe's, to weave them through the blonde hair that sits in the same style on the shorter man's head as when he left, to brush them over Gabe's cheeks and push them beneath the hem of his shirt. But he can't.

Not now. Not yet.

Maybe not even soon.

But, God, when he finally does, America will crumble beneath the force of their existence as a whole once again.

Their footsteps echo in the wide stairway and are cushioned by the carpeted hallway when they finally reach the top floor.

Sam fumbles with the keys for a moment before being able to slow his heart rate and unlock the door calmly enough to dilute suspicion.

When they step in and Sam locks the door behind them, his eyes evade Gabe's form standing silently in front of him, averting his eyes to everywhere but the shorter man as he speaks again.

"Meg wants to kick your ass. But not as much as Dean. Ellen and Jody are a little less angry about it and a little more...sad. For me. For what happened to us. For you, actually...too...because..." Sam trails off and breathes out, stepping forward and letting his hand hover over Gabe's cheek. He sets it down with a tentative sigh and tilts his head before trying again. "Gabe... whatever...was going through your mind when you left here, when you left me, was so terrible that you couldn't stand to stay...I've realised that, you know? I've realised...you had your reasons, and...maybe college wasn't even actually one of them. But if it was bad enough to make you leave..." Sam takes another step forward and catches up to his hand, standing directly over Gabe now, staring down into those beautiful rainbow eyes. He swallows and starts to tear up again. "Do you understand...just how absolutely beautiful you are, Gabriel Novak? Your mind, and your soul, and your smile, and your eyes, and your hair, and your voice, and your thoughts? Do you understand...how vivid you were...when I dreamt about you, about us?"

"Don't say things like that," Gabe steps back, turning his head away from Sam's touch, and Sam's hand falls limply back to his side. He's crying now - again - and so is Gabe.

"Why? Huh? Why Gabe? Because we haven't seen each other in three years?" Sam steps forward and Gabe takes a step back, one that matches Sam's steps forward. "Because you left without a single fucking word and didn't come back?" Sam steps forward again and the same pattern continues. "Because I sobbed nonstop for two entire days after you left?" Another step. "Because I couldn't find the energy to cry again for three months and nearly starved?" Step. "Because Jess came into my life and you weren't there anymore and I hadn't an idea what to do or say or think, so I just fell into her arms instead?" Gabe's back hits the back of the couch and he winces and Sam steps in so close that their chests heave together, and his hand is in Gabe's hair again. "Because I love too hard and too much and so do you and that's why this entire thing was a terrible idea from the start but we ignored everything and melted into each other anyway?"

"Sam--"

"Gabe," Sam's voice is hoarse and anger ridden and searching - for answers, for solutions, for questions, for love that was never lost. His lips quiver and instead of crying again, he muffles the sound of the oncoming sob by leaning down and crushing his lips against Gabe's.

Gabriel struggles for a second, still hesitant about allowing Sam to be so inconsiderate, but he settles into Sam's arm and melts into the kiss.

It's familiar and experienced and reassuring and desperate and so, so beautiful, and Sam can't resist the urge to dig his nails into Gabe's jacket and to pull the shorter man so close and to kiss him so hard that neither of them can breathe.

They pull away at the same time to catch their breath and their foreheads stick together. Sam's hands are curled tightly around the front of Gabe's t-shirt, undoubtedly stretching the fabric, but neither of them seem to have the conscience to care.

"I want you to be mine again...Gabe, can't you see that? Can't you understand? Why don't you..." Sam's words choke off into another sob that wracks his entire body and probably Gabe's and he collapses against the smaller man. "Why can't you understand how important you are to me, how much you mean to me, how much I lov--"

"Don't," Gabe whispers sharply and Sam glances up at him with confused and solemn eyes.

"What?" He asks quietly and Gabe looks down and away from the pleading look in Sam's gaze.

"I said, don't. Don't say it. Because you can't, not yet. Maybe not ever. If I can't forgive myself for what I did to you, no one can, not really. They'll say they do, they'll promise and reassure, and I'll act like I believe them, and we'll all act fine. And it'll still be a lie. And you can twist it any way you want, Sam, but what I did..." Gabe shakes his head and his face scrunches up into another impending sob. "Please don't forgive me. I don't deserve it."

Sam is silent for a moment too long, his feature painted with an unrelenting incredulity, before his finger curls beneath Gabe's chin and he lifts Gabe's face to his. Sam kisses Gabe again, more softly, less recklessly, and then pulls back and watches the short man.

"You're right. Maybe not now. But 'never' is a little too permanent for me," Sam whispers and presses a kiss to Gabe's forehead. "And you deserve every bit of forgiveness I have to give you. Every bit. Wanna know why?"

Gabe doesn't answer, really. Only hums his consent into the base of Sam's neck, and, from the feeling of the way his features contort against Sam's skin, braces himself for a whole new sob.

"Because I do love you. I always have, even after you left. And I always will, Gabe. Even if you leave again," Sam flinches at his own words, immediately regrets saying them, wishes he could take them back, because fuck it if he doesn't know that those last words must have stung like hell. He continues like they weren't uttered from his utterly unbearably large mouth. "Because I didn't let go of the little things."

Gabe shudders and gasps into Sam's neck, then sinks into the back of the couch, slouching over with his elbows on his knees and his fingers shading his face as he sobs, the noises muffled by the heel of his hand.

Sam doesn't say anything, or even make a face or nod or shake his head or sigh. Nothing. He simply shifts his grip on Gabe and slides his arms gingerly around Gabe's shoulders, burying his face in Gabe's shaking head.

They've a lot of work to do, a lot to understand and to figure out and to say.

But this is good for now; Sam's arms folded around Gabe's body and his lips touching every centimetre of hair and skin he can reach, and Gabe's sobs wailing through the living room and into Sam's chest with the most wretched, most horrible kind of sadness that exists invading his every breath. And neither of them finding a fuck to give that they probably look absolutely ridiculous.

This is good.

It's fine. They're fine.

They'll be okay.


	14. No New Goodbyes

Gabe yawns and stretches his arms above his head, then rubs his eyes, which twitch instinctually to his right, where he suddenly feels a heated presence pressing into his ribs.

Sam's borderline-too-long hair is splayed out over the white pillow, his body facing away from Gabe but his back pushes flush against Gabe's side. Gabe raises his eyebrows and nods approvingly.

So it wasn't all just a hopeless, hapless dream.

Sam is in bed next to him, fully clothed and snoring lightly.

Gabe tries to smile, his eyes glimmering down at Sam's sleeping face as he leans over the relaxed body. He shakes his head and shifts carefully beneath the sheets, wanting to get up and wander around but thinks twice, a realisation smacking him across the face and making him lie back down and slip his arm around Sam's waist.

This realisation is the imminent fact that if he is not in the bed when Sam wakes up, bad things may happen to Sam. Bad things as in a freak out, a melt down, possible shouting and hyperventilation.

And Sam sure as hell doesn't deserve the emotional trauma of, yet again, having Gabe sleeping next to him one moment, and then just...*poof*, gone...the next. Fact is, Gabe's disappearing act has emotionally scarred Sam, and if a similar situation were to take place, he'd be in shambles within seconds, indubitably, undoubtedly, and inevitably. And that would hold no fairness at all.

And Gabe feels selfish for even thinking it, but a small part of this is also that he can't be the reason for that, not again. It makes him guilty to think that that previous guilt at all ties into his decision to stay in the bed until Sam wakes, but it's a truth and he must acknowledge its existence.

Before he can get much farther into these thoughts, Sam stirs and twitches and then twists his head around to meet his weary gaze with Gabe's alert one.

"Hi," Sam slurs tiredly and turns the rest of the way around, sliding his arm between the bend in Gabe's waist and the comforter and pulling Gabe farther into him.

"Hi," Gabe replies breathlessly, wanting so haphazardly to reach up and brush Sam's hair away from those eyes and to kiss Sam hard and long. But he doesn't, he doesn't, he doesn't, because shit if he isn't caught so off guard by the galaxies woven into Sam's eyes. And the sunlight streams so mercilessly in through the unshaded windows and Sam's dilated pupils sparkle with something treacherous and eager and affectionate. "I wasn't watching you sleep."

"I would be okay with it if you were. Flattered, actually," Sam jokes and Gabe tries very hard not to laugh, mostly out of a raging disparity plummeting through his thoughts at a million kilometers an hour, grateful and mortified at the same time.

"You're just so soft and beautiful when you're sleeping. Like, in the most innocent-looking, most relaxed way possible. I think you may be more beautiful awake, if that holds a fraction of possibility."

Sam blinks slowly and smiles slowly too, taking his damn time to seem so perfect to Gabe.

"I want to say it...I so desperately want to say it. But I know I shouldn't," Sam whispers instead of a response. His hand floats up to cup the side of Gabe's neck and his thumb brushes over the stubble that's accumulated on Gabe's jaw and cheek. "I wish I could."

"Don't," is all Gabe chokes out in reply, his voice creaking, nearly crumbling, under the weight of everything that's happened, in the past days, in the past months, in the past three years that he's been gone and in the past five years that they married and then fell to pieces and in the past seven years that they've known eachother. He clears his throat and adds, "Please. I just...I don't want you saying something you don't mean--"

"Something I don't mean?" Sam laughs coldly, shaking his head. "You're blind...if you think for a second I don't mean the things I say to you." He begins to slide away and Gabe has a fleeting internal debate about whether to grab him or not and decides that yes, he'd very much like for Sam to not leave him. Not just yet.

"Sam, that's not what I meant--"

"Get off me--"

"Sam--"

"Let go of me!" Sam starts to struggle and Gabe huffs, knowing Sam still has a strength advantage, but pulling him in anyway and holding him against his chest. "What are you--"

"Sam. Don't leave. Don't let go. Please," Gabe's voice breaks and Sam's body slowly relaxes, sinking into Gabe's. Sam's harsh breathing subsides to dull, slow inhales and his face nuzzles into the hollow of Gabe's neck. "Don't go."

"I won't."

They stay like that for the next hour, Gabe curling around Sam, enveloping the taller man, and Sam's face buried in Gabe's chest, breathing the scent of Gabe in, the scent he's obviously missed a little too much.

******

Gabe can't find a thing to do today. It's a lazy day for both of the men and Sam is in the shower, and Gabe doesn't want to watch tv, or read a book, or study for something he doesn't need to study for anymore. So he walks his fingers over the granite slab of the island in the kitchen and hums along to an obscure song in the periphery of his mind.

Suddenly he realises the music isn't coming from inside his head; he hears the faint strum of a guitar from one of the other rooms.

Maybe Sam's got the radio on?

Curiousity piqued, he ambles out of the kitchen, through the living room, and toward the door to Sam's bed room. He presses his ear against the white wood and listens intently.

No, that's not a radio - it's too acoustic, too clear.

But when did Sam have the time to learn how to play the acoustic gui--

 _Oh, right_ , Gabe thinks to himself. _I was gone for three years_.

A lot of things can change in that amount of time.

Sam's voice suddenly spills out from beneath the door, light and sweet and gentle, each lilting word caressed by the slight gravel of his singing.

"Hey there, Delilah, what's it like in New York City? You're a thousand miles away but girl tonight you look so pre--"

Sam notices Gabe leaning against the door frame and his voice and the music cuts off.

"Hi..." Sam says quietly, glancing up and down a few times, from Gabe's face to the floor, and finally settling on Gabe's feet and Gabe waltzes forward, pulls up the ottoman in front of Sam who sits on the end of the bed, and smiles.

"Hey, sailor," Gabe whispers. "Don't stop on account of my presence."

"I...don't like to sing in front of other people--" Sam tries but Gabe won't have it.

"I love your voice. I never knew you could sing," Gabe says with a practised, habitual kind of loving surprise.

"Yeah, well...I didn't really go full blast until you-" Sam cuts himself short and clears his throat. "I had a lot of time to practise while you were gone."

"And the guitar?"

"Lessons. Like I said. A lot of time."

Gabe's eyes shift down, his head nodding, his dilated pupils searching the ground. Then he says, "Sing. Play it for me."

Sam huffs out a laugh and nods his head downward. He purses his lips, thinking, calculating. Then he peeks back up at Gabe and a tentative apprehension appears momentarily before he smiles a small smile.

"What should I sing? I don't know a lot of songs on the guitar but I'll try my best," Sam finally says, pulling the guitar back toward his chest and smirking softly.

"That song you were just singing."

Sam laughs and watches Gabe with a squinting, mischievous gleam in his eyes.

He positions his fingers over the strings and starts strumming out a melodic, hipster-nostalgia type tune.

And then...oh, God, his voice - it's elegant and gravelly, and soft and strong, and flexible and resilient, and everything a singer's voice should be.

"Hey there, Gabriel, what's it like in New York City? You're a thousand miles away but, boy, tonight you look so pretty, yes you do. Time square can't shine as bright as you; I swear it's true. Hey there, Gabriel, don't you worry about the distance; I'm right there - if you get lonely, give this song another listen, close your eyes. Listen to my voice that's my disguise; I'm by your side. Oh, it's what you do to me, oh, it's what you do to me."

Gabe listens intently and spends the next half hour melting into Sam's voice, and falling in love all over again.

******

Sam drags Gabe through the door by his sleeve and doesn't even bother turning around to lock it.

"Seriously, Sam, where are we going?" Gabe growls, annoyed, but allowing Sam to tug him along.

"You'll see," Sam replies and nearly leaps down the entire flight of eleven stairs.

"Why won't you tell me--"

"Don't worry about it. It's a surprise."

"Sam--"

Sam turns abruptly, grabs Gabe by the shoulders, and pushes his lips against Gabe's, then pulls away and their eyes meld together again. Like they used to.

"You'll see," Sam persists, then pivots on his heel and continues down the stairs.

Gabe wants to be annoyed, but he can't anymore, so he crosses his arms over his chest, following Sam down the steps, and grumbling.

"There _is_  an elevator, you know!" He calls ahead of him just to piss Sam off. The moose only laughs and peeks around the corner of the next flight of stairs sporting a moronic grin.

He holds out his hand and Gabe wanders down the next few steps so he can reach it. As soon as his hand is attached to Sam's, the taller man yanks him down a few more steps, spins around, and grabs Gabe by the thighs, lifting the blonde man onto his back.

"Oh my god, please don't fall. I'm too young to die," Gabe wraps his arms around Sam's shoulders, holding on for dear life and struggling to trust that the moose won't tip over.

"And at the mercy of your husband," Sam yells, still grinning, and he hops down to the landing from about four steps up, giving Gabe a minor heart attack.

They both ignore the words Sam must have accidentally said, letting them slip through their ears, undefended.

"You're a dumbass, Sam Winchester."

"And you're a shortass, Gabriel Novak. The shortassiest of the the shortasses," Sam laughs. "Besides, I'm your dumbass."

"Dumbass and shortass, huh?"

"The mysadventures of," Sam concludes just before he runs past the front desk, and Amelia gives them a strange look, but doesn't question.

They always used to be up to something crazy, but, Gabe supposes, it's been three years.

Sam sets Gabe down when they get to Sam's car, and opens the door for him.

"Ladies first," Sam teases and Gabe rolls his eyes pointedly.

"You were the one in white," Gabe replies when Sam steps in and starts the car.

The words pass over them in a flurry of memory and anguish and Sam's smile falls slowly.

"Sorry, I didn't--" Gabe tries to apologise but Sam just grabs his hand and intertwines their fingers.

"You know...we never divorced," Sam whispers after a while, gazing wistfully out the front window. "Not officially."

"Are you suggesting, in the most cliche way possible, that we have been together the whole time," Gabe chuckles, squeezing Sam's hand. "You poetic little shit."

"I do believe...ahem," Sam pretends to clear his throat and smiles. "I do believe that we were always bound together by our hearts."

Gabe shakes his head and everything gets silent again.

For a while.

"It's not your fault, Gabe," Sam croaks, and, after a second of silence, brings Gabe's knuckles to his lips. Then he mumbles, obviously not intending for Gabe to hear, "Not your fault, baby."

"You know damn well it's completely my--"

"Gabe, don't you dare. Okay?" He peeks at Gabe as he pulls up to a stop light and leans over, pecking Gabe on the cheek. "Look. I was livid, Gabe. Gloriously... vindictive," he offers a tenuous laugh. "I blamed... everything and everyone but me. You. College. India. Meg. Your bothers. Anything I could twist into a logical reason. I was...antipathetic. Dead to the world. For three entire months. I was the epitome of despondent. Dismal. Whatever you wanna call it."

Gabe's sudden brevity forces Sam to glance over at the shorter man.

"But it's not your fault Gabe. It's just not."

"Sam--"

"Accept it. It's nobody's fault. Okay?" Sam watches him with expectant eyes.

Gabe squirms beneath Sam's gaze and doesn't answer. The rest of the ride is silent.

Gabe's eyes widen, he eyebrows pulling down, when Sam pulls into the empty parking lot of the abandoned strip mall with the field of flowers and listens to the tiny pebbles popping under the tires.

"Sam, what are we doing...here" Gabe's voice begins trailing off when he sees the hundreds of wild flowers seemingly blooming straight from the side wall of the empty building. His eyes start watering and his lips part slowly. "Sam?" He whispers brokenly, almost imperceptibly and turns to look at the other man, nearly crying.

"Go take a closer look," Sam says and when Gabe makes no move to get out of the car, Sam hops out and runs to the other side, then pulls Gabe out of his seat. "Well, come on."

Gabe approaches the giant words, one of his hands still laced with Sam's, and reaches the other one up to touch them, afraid they may fall.

"Go ahead. They're glued down with super-industrial glue," Sam consents.

Gabe nods and runs his hand over the first word.

'Welcome home, Gabe. I love you.'

"Is this...?" Gabe asks slowly, unassuredly.

"Why I agreed not to say it?" Sam finishes, stepping in behind Gabe and sliding his long arms around his waist. "Yeah. Yeah, I suppose it is."

Sam bites his lip and Gabe turns back to the beautiful, colourful, magnificent message glued to the building in front of him.

"This is...incredible; where...did you find the time...?" So many questions left unfinished.

"Jess helped. It was that same day, a few hours after you called," Sam's smile is filled with pride and an undying love. "She was happy to help."

Gabe only nods, understanding of the situation with Jessica.

"My god," Gabe gushes again, then twists in Sam's arms and watches him with a hopeful glimmer in his eyes and dangling precariously from his smile. He kisses Sam, gently, his hands coming up to hold Sam's cheeks and Sam's arms still wrapped around Gabe's waist. They kiss for a long time, reveling in eachother's presence, reunited as a whole.

Reignited as a flame.

The kiss becomes desperate and Gabe pulls Sam into the field, tugging at his sleeve. When they're a decent distance in, Gabe stops suddenly, turning around, and Sam slams into his chest, and they both fall into the grass, accepting their laying position with Sam on top, a leg on either side of Gabe's hips, and Gabe's head pressing into the cool earth, dampened by a rain that happened probably days earlier, and that the long grass has kept from falling into the air.

They're hidden well, away from the prying eyes of the city and Gabe doesn't hesitate to throw Sam's jacket aside, then the man's t-shirt. His hands find and scan every centimetre of skin they can reach, desperate after three years of unfamiliar men at bars, and praising and grateful to have their Sam back, to be able to feel their Sam's bare skin again.

Gabe's lips play victoriously over the crook of Sam's neck and his teeth graze over the heated flesh of his ear.

Sam seems just as excited to have Gabe back, rolling his hips and rutting against the space between Gabe's thigh and own hardened cock, which strains at the denim confines of his jeans.

"Jesus Christ, I can't believe...I almost forgot how you feel, Sam. Almost forgot...how it felt to have you on top of me like this," Gabe breathes quickly, his nails scraping at Sam's bare back. "Oh god, I can't believe I almost forgot."

"Don't forget. Never forget Gabe. Not those little things, not the big things. Not now and not ever. Don't let go," Sam breathes in return and kisses Gabe fiercely, uninhibited.

They peel off the rest of their clammy clothing, gently, carefully.

Their love is saturated with a need to take the rhythm down to an almost unbearable level, and they make love slowly, hidden from all the world by the flowers and the grass and the new saplings spotting the field, their hips rolling together so gingerly that Gabe can't decide between wanting more and wanting exactly this.

Sam's tongue presses hotly against Gabe's hole, and Gabe's moans are intense, breathy and overbearing at the same time. Saliva, alone, is hard to work with, but Gabe doesn't care, knows he can take any pain Sam has to give him.

Even so, when Sam's dick finally does slip past the ring of muscle, and Sam pushes in slowly, Gabe can't help the pleasure-wrought yelp that leaps from his mouth.

So good, he thinks, unable to speak. Unable to breathe or gather the will power to acknowledge that Sam's cock, even wet, still smarts a bit.

Sam growls into Gabe's collarbone and his breath runs out over the bite-marked, lip-bruised skin there.

Gabe comes, untouched, just off Sam's cock sliding slowly, repeatedly, against his prostate, and he comes shaking, his entire body ceasing and then trembling and his back arching off the ground then falling back again...and with Sam's name dripping from his lips - flying up through his constricting throat, almost able to cling steadfastly to his tongue, but not quite able to suppress the urge to scamper out through his lips and into the soft February afternoon breeze.

And apparently Gabe's walls clamping up around Sam is the last straw because Sam's strangled gasp falls against Gabe's neck, and his come fills Gabe in the most lascivious, delicious way, and Sam's hips hitch against Gabe's.

Sam collapses against Gabe's chest and his breaths make Gabe's skin tingle.

"I love you too," Gabe whispers and plants a kiss to Sam's temple. The grass itches against his sweaty back but he won't - _can't_  - care right now.

"I've missed your voice. And your smile. And your incomplete thoughts," Sam's words slur together, and Gabe can tell he's just too sated to care. "Promise you won't leave again. Gabe, promise me. Promise you won't disappear."

Sam's voice breaks on that last word and Gabe can't stand to hear him that way.

"Sshh, baby. I promise, okay? Sam, look at me," he hears Sam sniffle and he can't bear to hear Sam cry again, so he grazes his finger over Sam's chin and the larger man peeks up at him through heavy lashes. "I'm not leaving you. Ever. I get it, Sam. I get how...how fucking torn up you were. I don't think I ever felt as terrible as you - maybe a level of guilt that almost equaled your pain. But I can't let you go through that again, and if I have anything to do with it, you'll never go through anything like that, because of anyone. Okay? You didn't deserve it. And you don't deserve it now. And you'll never deserve it. So don't think for a second that you do, that any of is because of you, that your feelings were invalid." Gabe begins crying again and places another kiss against Sam's forehead. "And, God, you're so beautiful, too beautiful for any of this. Too sweet and perfect and kind. And you did nothing but treat me right and you were so beautiful and graceful in everything you did, everything you do. And baby, I can't..." Gabe sobs into Sam's hair and swallows before trying to speak again, in his crackling, strained voice. "I'm not letting go. I won't. Never again. I was so stupid. Sam, I'm so stupid."

Sam takes a moment, contemplating the mess they've both made and the words that have been said.

And then...

"I've missed you," and Sam kisses Gabe's shoulder and nuzzles his nose into it, humming 'Hey There Delilah', the song from earlier. And everything feels so normal again.

Aside from the fact that they are currently ass-bare-fucking-naked, just done having sex, in a huge field of wild flowers behind a long dead strip mall with a gravel parking lot and flowers glued to its bricks.

But that's entirely not a problem.

Because Sam is back in Gabe's arms, and they're counting the clouds in the sky like the sheep in the stars.


	15. Some Goodbyes Are Forever

Sam's decided to take Gabe to a play.

His favourite play, to be specific.

But it'll be cuter to him because the actors and actresses are children.

They'd woken up, arms tangled, heads buried in eachother's necks, and Sam had watched Gabe sleeping and had had a thought run through his mind, a weary, slurred one, one that probably wasn't coherent enough for it to count but he counts it anyway.

 _God, this man is beautiful. And Jesus Christ, he's all mine again_ , he'd thought to himself and his eyes had wandered over Gabe's bare shoulders, to his chest pressed lightly against Sam's.

And so, they'd gotten up, gotten dressed, and gotten a breakfast too late to be breakfast but too early to be brunch at the coffee shoppe where Sam used to go with Jess.

And on their way down to the car, Jess had peeked out and smiled delightedly at the two together. She'd rushed over and thrown her arms around Gabe and thanked him for coming home to Sam, for getting him back to the happy he used to have. No coalescence of anger or hesitation, no slap to the face for making Sam suffer. Just a giant hug and a kiss on the cheek and a grateful smile and a sweet goodbye.

And Sam thinks that maybe somehow Jess is actually happier to see the two men together than she was when she was with Sam, herself. But that also may just be Jess, happy all the time.

And now, the two of them sit in the car, scrolling their way through the labyrinth of downtown before they finally break off onto the freeway and speed ahead around the rest of the cars.

"Slow down, you're gonna get yourself killed," Gabe complains from the passenger seat and Sam glances deleteriously at the shorter man then lifts his hands only a millimetre from the steering wheel and watches Gabe's eyes go huge as the sun, almost choking on his own spluttered words. " _SAM_!"

Sam just laughs and swerves around another car.

"Yeah, haha, _fucking_  prick," Gabe retorts and Sam slides his hand into Gabe's, who doesn't resist the gesture of apparent apology. "Let's see how much you're laughing when somebody's killed," he grumbles and stares out the window.

"We're almost there. Settle your tits, you woman," Sam sneers playfully, kissing each of Gabe's fingertips absent-mindedly.

Gabe shakes his head and Sam smiles triumphantly, a gallant smirk crossing through his eyes.

"Just be glad I was able to get the time off of work to do this for you," Sam teases and Gabe scoffs.

"Oh, yes. Sam, my prince in shining fucking armour. Ass."

"You love me," and though Gabe doesn't reply to the one, Sam knows that Gabe knows damn well that Sam doesn't need one.

"Speaking of, I should find a job," Gabe sighs suddenly against the window and Sam draws his brows down.

"Meg would be thrilled to have you back, Gabe," Sam starts and laughs. "More than thrilled. You were her best... um...'boy'."

The tease only earns a fleeting smile from Gabe, who rests his chin in his hand and his elbow against the leather sill of the window.

"I guess. I don't know if I'd be so comfortable doing private dances for a bunch of random guys...I have you," Gabe replies, pulling a seductive husk into his tone at that last part and trailing his thumb over Sam's hand, which makes him shiver, makes him almost lose control of the car.

"You wouldn't need to do that. I'm actually completely, a hundred percent positive that Meg would make a huge exception for you."

Sam catches the smile smile that Gabe offers and wisps Gabe's hand up to his lips, kissing his knuckles this time. He also catches the goosebumps that form on Gabe's arm.

"Wanna know why I love dancing so much?" Gabe's voice comes suddenly, quietly, from across the car after a few more minutes of silence.

"Of course, baby," Sam grins, and checks the rear view mirror, then merges into the left hand lane.

Gabe hesitates for only a millisecond, not enough for any normal person to heed warning but Sam notices, and his stomach burns with knots and twists and backflips.

"It was an escape. Back when dad was having problems with alcohol and especially after Michael left; it was an escape. It was...something to do while I slowly died inside," Gabe laughs with valiance at that last part, squeezing Sam's hand with a slightly uncomfortable amount of pressure, but nothing unbearable enough for Sam to say anything. "I've lived vicariously through dance since I was...eight? Maybe even before that..."

Gabe's eyes begin to water and they fall down to the dashboard, looking not at it, but through it, to the engine of the car, maybe past that, to the road flying by beneath the swirling tires.

Sam turns and watches him, watches his entire life swipe tears from his eyes and glance down, to the left, anywhere but Sam.

And then a semi truck slams into the passenger side of the car and everything goes black.

******

Sam comes to, groaning and retching, and trying to lift his arm to rub his pounding head but finding that he can't quite move it, no matter how harshly his mind commands it to. His other arm is uninjured, though, and he checks it's available usage. His breaths come in heavy gasps and he squints, surveying the wreckage, seeing that two, maybe three other cars are in shambles around his own.

Tires spin fruitlessly in the air, still attached to an upturned car. A small fire roars dismally, it's quivering flames dancing over the side of the semi truck. Another car faces the wrong way and skid marks map out exactly where it spun out of control, and the woman inside holds a hand to her bleeding forehead. There are other chunks of metal that don't belong to either of their cars or Sam's that litter the intersection and Sam wonders where the actual body is.

He can already hear the sirens shrieking desperately in the distance.

He turns his head to the left and his heart stops.

Gabe.

No, no no no no no.

He unbuckles his belt with trembling fingers and falls carelessly from his seat. His hand hits the ground and a shard of broken window slices his skin open, making him wince; but he's too terrified to care at the moment.

He crawls jerkily over to Gabe's limp body, tangled in his seat belt and the remains of the seat, and lying next to a thin twist of metal...

No...not lying next to. Lying with it jutting out of his stomach.

Shit. Fuck, God no. No.

"No!" Sam shouts and he crawls more quickly. When he gets there, he hastily removes crumbles of glass and pieces of metal and leather from Gabe's chest, using the softest, most gentle of touches to wipe the hair from Gabe's eyes, which crack open to reveal bloodshot whites. "Baby? Gabe? Can you hear me? Can you...God, okay...just, say something, anything. Anything please," Sam begs, rocking forward over Gabe.

Gabe offers a wan smile, and, when he coughs, a splatter of blood flies out and dots his shirt, and he laughs so weakly and Sam can't take the reality of the situation.

"That's...that's okay, baby," he tries to smile but a sob wracks his body instead. "That's okay, we'll put that shirt in the laundry when we get home. It's okay. It's..." He sobs again and folds into himself, the sob so intense, he can't even find the ability to breathe. So he starts singing. "Hey there, Delilah...what's it like in New York City? You're...a thousand miles away..." His face is contorting too much for the words to be notable, but Gabe begins to hum along and Sam nods frantically. "That's right, baby. That's right. Just keep humming. You're gonna get help, people are on the way. We'll get this thing outta you and we'll go home and sing together. Sing however many songs you want, huh? Whichever ones you want, and I'll try to play them on the guitar and...and we'll laugh when I mess up, hit a wrong note. And we'll have the greatest time." Sam's voice starts going up, squeaking, and then cracking too much for him to speak again.

Gabe's breaths are shallow, too shallow and Sam growls, "Come on. No, no. Don't die. Don't die. Not yet, not yet, don't die. You already left me once. You already left one too many times. Don't leave me again. Please. Please."

"Let go, Sam," Gabe wheezes and Sam shakes his head forcefully before Gabe is even finished speaking. "Sam--"

"No!" Then, more softly, "No. No I won't do that. Remember? Remember, Gabe, remember what we said?"

"I know...what we said."

"Please," Sam begs, defeated and exhausted, letting himself sag over Gabe's chest, his head dipping and his forehead touching Gabe's chest. "Please."

 _Don't let go_.

 _I never did_.

"Don't let go," Sam voices, distraught and crumbling and sobbing, his entire body absolutely shaking now.

_I never did._

"I won't," Gabe whispers, his voice becoming quieter and quieter, his breaths becoming more shallow. "Don't go. Don't...don't go. Don't let go of my...my hand. Please," Sam's voice bounces with every sobbing breath he lets out.

"Sam...I won't...wanna...know why?" Gabe struggles to speak now, and Sam hates to make him explain anymore than this. He's gotta save his strength, save his energy. For when they bring him to the hospital. And when they pull that damn metal out of him, and stitch him up.

But he has to keep talking, Sam has to keep him talking so he doesn't lose consciousness...so he doesn't leave again.

"Sure Gabe. Of course," Sam whispers, cheering him on with his expectant eyes. He brushes locks of dirt streaked blonde hair out of Gabe's face and tries to smile solemnly. "Of course."

"Because it doesn't seem fair to let go of the little things."

Sam sobs again and attempts to offer a sad smile. And he shakes his head at the absurdity of it all.

Gabe's going to live. He's going to; he's gonna go to the hospital, and...and they're gonna stitch him up, and then...then Sam, he'll bring Gabe home and he'll spoon feed him soup and tuck the blankets up to his chin and kiss him goodnight. Kiss him goodnight like they used to.

He continues to smile.

And Gabe smiles back.

 _I never did_.

 _Don't let go_. _Don't let go_.

 _Don't you dare fucking go_!

Gabe smiles back.

Gabe's eyes drain, now as pale and sallow as his skin has become, and the smile fades from his lips. And Sam clutches at the fabric of Gabe's bloody t-shirt, balling it into his fists, bawling into his chest.

Sam hears the ambulance pull up behind the wreckage and he leans down and kisses Gabe goodnight one last time.

And then he just sits there, rocking back and forth, ignoring the heavy boot falls cracking against the pavement, concentrating on the snap of the fire and staring at nothing, still grasping at Gabe's shirt.

And then several pairs of hands pull him up and he struggles against them, clinging to Gabe and screaming like a child being taken from it's parents.

"No! No, I love him! Get off! Get off me, let me go!" Sam wails, but even with his exceptional strength, four against one never turns out well for the lone-standing.

They drag him away without emotion on their faces and Sam is furious that they dare not even pretend to feel a thing.

He watches one of them check Gabe's pulse, and when she shakes her head at the other paramedics, Sam's heart crumbles into billions of pieces, never able to be put together again, not like last time, because the reality that Gabe's dead nearly hits him. All it took was that one paramedic to confirm.

And he no longer has the energy to do anything about it, having spent it all on begging Gabe not to leave again, and scrabbling for purchase on the oil-slick pavement as the other men carried him away from the only reason he exists.

And he sits in the middle of the flurry of sound and bodies, the commotion that could've, should've, gotten here a few minutes earlier, could've, should've, been able to save Gabe's life, had they not gotten here when they did. 

And he spaces out in all the chaos, zoning in again to the crackle of the blazing flames waving at him, taunting him, against the metal side of the semi truck, and shoving out all the shouting voices and calm questions he's supposed to answer and the blanket being draped over his shoulders and the scrape of metal and the crunch of glass beneath scurrying feet.

He zones it all out and tries not to concentrate on the one thing that's sure to truly hit him in the next few days, the thing that's sure to truly, utterly, completely, inexorably, and irreconcilably break him this time.

Gabe's dead.

Ostensibly, irrevocably.

And there's no way to take that goodbye back.


	16. But Maybe Some Aren't

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tbh, I actually VEHEMENTLY...
> 
> DO. NOT.
> 
> Ship Sastiel/Samstiel, whichever you call it.
> 
> I just wanted to do a little something for everyone. 
> 
> Because I'm nice like that.

At the hospital, Sam is treated for minor injuries - a broken arm, obviously. Slight whiplash. A minor concussion. Several nicks and scrapes and scratches. Several sore spots that will obviously turn into bruises.

But the physical injury is meaningless to him. Because those things can be treated with stitches and medicine. The internal damage is what frightens him.

Because this time he might not be able to get rebuilt. By himself or anyone. Time might help, might dull it. Alcohol too...but, no. He won't end up like his father. Never. No alcohol. It was okay last time; it was controlled, he was able to understand it was a bad decision. And he gets that now too. But this time there's not a tiny little spark of hope in the back of his mind that Gabe might come back, no glimmer of knowledge that Gabe is still out there somewhere in the edge of his eye, to keep him from going full blast, irrevocable alcoholic.

For now, time will have to do.

And time is all he has.

******

The funeral seems to last forever, seems to last far too long and Sam can't take it, can't take the pitying eyes grazing over him and twitching away when he looks back at them, can't take the defeated hugs and the other crying family members and friends, can't take Cas shaking and trembling and sobbing into his chest and clinging to him with his nails cutting into the back of Sam's tuxedo, can't take Meg holding weakly to his hand, clutching it with faltering strength and not meeting anyone's gaze, just staring at the ground with parted lips and an implicit shock that seems to prevent her from crying.

And he can't bear to look at the white coffin standing in front of him for very long. But he stares at it.

And he's the last one to drop a rose on the centre of it, the only red one, standing like a reminder of everything they could've had against the all the purple of the rest of roses, of the rest of the world.

And he kisses the lid of the coffin, about where Gabe's forehead would be if he were exposed like at the ceremony for the closing of the coffin. He hadn't been able to stand being one of the men to stay before the coffin when they closed it there. He hadn't even been able to stand. He had mustered all the energy he had left to be the last in line to say goodbye to Gabe's dead, lifeless body. And when he had finally reached it, he had simply stood there and stared, not able to find a word or a combination of letters in the entire universe to express to the corpse in front of him how sorry he was and that it was completely his fault. He had simply taken in Gabe's limp hands strung up over his chest and had kissed the shorter man's forehead. And his knees had buckled, so Meg had had to run up and catch him and help him back to his seat as he began sobbing, and everyone had given him the most solemn looks of apology and had cried too.

And, now, God help him if he isn't the last one standing there, staring at the freshly upturned soil after they lower him into the ground and throw six feet of dirt over Gabe's body.

And Meg and Cas and Jess all stumble over to help him back to Meg's car because God knows he wasn't able to drive here himself, didn't have the willpower or strength.

When he gets home, and Meg and Jess have thoroughly helped him into his apartment and have left, he sits on the couch and stares at the wall, and past it to the future they should have had together.

The one they FUCKING DESERVED, GODDAMNIT!

And he can feel the impending sob so he finds something to busy himself with.

He picks up his guitar from beside the couch, and, though he hasn't the tenacity to do so, begins to strum it delicately, thinking back to that first time Gabe heard him sing, not even two months ago, and 'Hey There Delilah' by The Plain White T's had become Gabe's most favourite song in the entirety of the universe, at least when Sam sang it. And Gabe had prompted him to play it all the time after that, at all hours of the day, only barely wanting to listen to him sing anything else.

So, now, Sam sings that.

And he wonders, as he drags the pick across the taut strings and the words begin flowing from his mouth and coursing through his veins and pounding at his very existence...

Why?

Why...anything? Everything?

Just...so simply... _why_?

It's the only thing that runs through his head for the next few days.

******

Sam visits Gabe's grave again. The grass, after only a week, has already started to regrow, peeking shyly through the dirt and waving meekly up at Sam and other passerby.

He pauses in front of the head stone, staring down at it. Contemplating every decision that's lead up to this point in his life - in what seems to be the never ending oblivion of emotional distress and tragedy that apparently is his life. Finally understanding how every kick to his mother's stomach as a fetus, every wail of want as a baby, every snot-nosed tantrum as a toddler, every hug he's every given Dean, every wish he's ever made and prayer he's ever said to a God he's no longer sure exists, every laugh he's let out and every tear he's cried, and every emotion he's mangled, and every step he's gone and every smile he's sneaked and every innocent kiss he's stolen and every little hug he's given and every word he's said and sung and every. Fucking. Breath. That he has ever taken. He understands, now. That they've all led up to here; every event, major and minor, and everything in between, in his life. It's all led up to here. To this exact spot and this exact time. To this very situation and this very breath, the one he's taking right exactly now.

And he shakes his head, not wanting to be the one to blame for this but understanding that he indubitably is.

"How dare you," he whispers to the shiny black marble marking the love of his life's death. And then his voice rises. "How. Fucking. _Dare_  you! I _just_  got you back, Gabe! I _JUST_  GOT YOU BACK, HOW DARE YOU! HOW _DARE_  YOU LEAVE AGAIN! YOU _PROMISED_! You...promised," his words crack and he sinks to his knees in front of the gravestone, sobbing for all its worth, for all that he's got left, which isn't a whole damn lot. "You promised you wouldn't leave again. And now you're gone." He tries not to break again, as a new ferocity enters his voice, one he didn't know he had the energy for. "How dare you break that promise! How dare you leave! How dare you let go of those little things...you _promised_ , you ass..." His voice becomes soft and broken again, without a care in the world that it's quickly tumbling down, creasing and folding in on itself. "You promised." It's all he can say. All he has left to say.

And he rocks back and forth, sitting atop the nearly black dirt, now disrupted by his feet kicking it up, and by his body shifting somberly over it.

"Don't leave me," he murmurs fiercely, pronouncing every word so strongly, he doesn't think he'll have the strength to stand back up.

But he does.

And he leaves.

And he doesn't look back.

Not yet, not this time, not now.

He'll come back.

But he doesn't dare look back.

******

Sam, Meg, and Jess bury themselves in the task of organising Gabe's things around Sam's apartment. He's refused to sell anything or to give any of it to anyone but Cas.

Sam removes himself from the outside world, digging his fingers through Gabe's clothes, occasionally stopping and burying his face in an item for one reason or another before moving on. He finds one of Gabe's more oversized sweaters and pulls it over his head. It's big, even on him. And he's surprised to find that it's his; a light grey one he thought he lost years ago. But Gabe just had it, and obviously wore it a lot more than Sam initially thought because Sam can _smell_  him. Can smell Gabe on it. He doesn't take it off.

He tears himself away from the clothing and finds Gabe's dark blue suitcase still lying in its precarious slanted position in the back of the closet. He lifts it to a standing position and a piece of paper slips through between the bottom of the zipper. It's crinkled and folded and faded, obviously well worn, and Sam is careful opening it.

A picture falls out onto the ground he picks it up and stares. It's one of the Polaroids. It's he and Gabe, grinning broadly, both of them, standing in front of the indigo waves of the Indian Ocean with their fingers intertwined.

He slams it down on the ground, backside turned up, entirely unable to look at it right now. Instead, he turns to what appears to be a letter...from Gabe to Sam. Written from his time in New York, based on the date in the top left corner. Odd...it almost seems like a page out of a journal.

Maybe it is...

He reads through it with growing contempt toward himself, and a nauseating feeling that he never deserved Gabe.

But Gabe thinks...thought... differently.

' _Sam._

_My Sam._

_I'm perennially apologetic, utterly guilty, that I left. That I had to leave, that I made myself leave._

_And you have to understand; it's not your fault._

_After what we said to eachother, after the understanding that nothing could be normal again hit me, I couldn't simply stay, and act like the entire thing never happened, knowing we would never talk about again. I couldn't stay when there was an anvil swinging over both our heads, filled with...I don't know...contrition. Mistrust. Anger. Betrayal. An unwarranted, unconditional love. The realisation that, if I stayed, we would both act like we never had the conversation and that the situation simply didn't exist._

_I couldn't lie to myself like that, and I couldn't lie to you...I couldn't lie with you. With words or in our bed, knowing how much I must have hurt you._

_And, God, how much more it must have hurt to wake up without me next to you. I regret this decision. Every single fucking day of my pathetic life. I have no meaning anymore, no worth without you._

_But I can't just...come back. It can't just be that simple. Not after what I've done to you._

_But...Sam...you are...perpetually..._ _a part of me. And I cannot seem...to let that part go. You are engrained in my soul and carved into my heart and attached to my mind. Every part of you. Your laugh. Your smile. Your voice. Your eyes. Your hair (which desperately needs to be cut). Your giant lawyer brain. Your ability to calm anyone down. Your love. Your lips. Your level of absolute, undying empathy for anyone and everyone. The way your eyelashes sweep so easily over your skin. Hell, the way you breathe._

_And just remember, you don't deserve to feel as terrible as you inevitably do._

_And you always deserved all the love I gave you and all the love you willingly took. And I don't deserve you but I had you anyway. I still have you. In my soul, in the words I speak every day, in the tears I use to cry myself to sleep, in every breath I take._

_And I think it's just too terrifying to completely let go, to even think about what I might be like if I lost you entirely._

_To let go of the little things._

_So I won't let go._

_I'll love you until I can't love you anymore, until I stop speaking, and stop crying, and stop breathing altogether. I'll love you until you don't want my love anymore and even after that because that's what love does. It doesn't care. It just stands there and plays games with people and toys with them and then jeers at them when they get hurt._

_And, Jesus Christ, Sam...I love you so much._

_Don't let go._

_Of the little things or the big things or anything in between._

_God, please don't let go. Don't._

_Hate me, and punish me, and never talk to me again._

_But don't let go._

_Dearest,_

_Gabriel Novak_

_The man who probably broke you into irreparable pieces, and can't seem to stop loving every one of those pieces._ '

Sam stares blankly, unseeingly at the paper in front of him, holding it loosely between his thumb and his index finger, unable to react, to move or cry or think or breathe.

Scratch that.

He takes in a sharp gasp of air and drops the paper, letting it flit against the carrying lift of the breeze oscillating from the open window in the bed room, and letting his trembling hands come up to glean the sniveling, cowering, shattered look out of his twisted features.

His sob is a gasp slicing easily through the thick, muggy marsh of the desolate closet and apparently through the rest of the humid house, because Jess races in and stops dead in her tracks when she reaches the doorway to the bed room. A lamenting pity is plastered to her face, her eyebrows pulling up and in and her pink lips pulling down at the sight of Sam, hunched over a dark blue suitcase and the white carpet, in a baggy sweater with his hands clutching at his face, sobbing against the unbreathable air of the sodden California afternoon that drifts silently in and lands on their shoulders, sobbing with Sam.

Because when Sam is broken, so is the world around him; so is the weather and the land and the sky and you could see the cracks, see the lava boiling over onto the ground, see the stars sprinkling through the crevices in the broken light blue sky, scurrying to escape their home in the outerlying, darker space of the night that the light blue shifts open to reveal every evening. You can see it in the way the flames of the sun dance furiously across the sky, aching to punch everyone in the face and in the way the moon stands silently, morosely gazing down at the single human from its perch among the glinting stars, aching to reach down and swipe the tears from Sam's cheeks. You can see it in the way the ocean whips and flurries and destroys everything in its path, and in the way the trees sway ever so slightly in the faint breeze of a calmly terrified night.

And so the air around the house, surrounding Jess and Meg, who now stands beside the blonde girl in the doorway, and Sam as well, is tainted with the underlying precedence that nothing has gone right and everything only seems to get worse.

Jess and Meg exchange glances and glide over and wrap their arms around Sam's shoulders and haul him to his feet and lead him to his bed.

And he simply lets them lay him down and tuck the sheets up to his chin, and he lets Jess play her thumb across his cheek, erasing the tears, and he lets Meg kiss his forehead and watches her start crying too.

And now everyone is crying and no one knows what the fuck to do about anything anymore.

And what a fucking mess.

******

Blissful ignorance.

Alcohol helps a lot.

And Sam promised himself he wouldn't drink but, goddmanit all if he can't not break that promise.

Besides...he promised himself.

And what does that ever count for?

Especially when you're as worthless and pathetic and undeserving as he is.

He takes another swig straight from the bottle, having given up on trying to pour any of it into cups a long time ago. His hands are too shaky at this point.

He stumbles out from the kitchen to answer the knock at the door and when he sees it's Jess, he rolls his eyes and makes a flourishing motion for her to come on in.

She looks him over with the most hurt look on her face and he just smirks and bobbles his head, bowing gracelessly and nearly falling head first into Jess.

"Sam," her voice is sharp but it sounds a billion worlds away and Sam just laughs at the betrayal implicated in the word.

"Yes, darling. That's my name," he slurs then hiccups and giggles and stumbles back into the kitchen, knocking into the table and turning hold his hands out toward it as if to apologise. He turns back to Jess, who's followed him in and stands unsurely in the entryway to the kitchen, and he smiles. "Don't wear it out."

"You're drunk," she says simply and Sam throws his hands up in exasperation, then turns in a dizzy circle to face her again.

Constantly being interrupted.

What a frustration.

"You figure that out on your own, sweetheart?" He spits, chastising, cocking his eyebrow, and, when she doesn't give an immediate answer, he turns back to the cupboard, his torso wobbling on his shaky legs, and searches unseeingly through the other bottles of liquor.

"This isn't what Gabe would have wanted, Sam," she whispers and tears spring to Sam's eyes. He doesn't look at her, but he can hear her stepping cautiously toward him, feels her hand on his shoulder, feels her tilting her head, trying to get his full attention. "It needs to stop."

"'Kay, I can stop...whenever I fuckin' wanna stop," he whirls around and Jess stands her ground in front of him, though he towers over her wearing a menacing sneer. "So back the fuck off my case, Jess."

"If not for me. If not for Meg. Or Cas. Or Ellen and Jody," she pauses and places her hand on his cheek, now crying as well. "If not for _yourself_ ," she spits venomously. "Then for Gabe. Sam, stop for Gabe--"

"Why?! Huh?! What's the point--"

"Because Gabe loved you! And you loved Gabe! _Still_ love him, Sam!" She cries and shakes him and pushes her back, and she continues to shout at him, relentless in her resolve to bring him back to reality. "You still fucking love him!"

" _GABE'S_! _NOT_! _HERE_!!" Sam screams, his lips catching in a malicious snarl. He stands trembling, clenching his jaw, his breathing ragged as he stares Jessica down, and then he collapses against the counter, his head sinking into his hands, his next words probably too soft. "Gabe's not here. He's dead. He's fucking dead, and he's gone and he's simply not here."

"So?"

"So what...difference..." He lifts his head angrily and stares at her, eyes expectant. "Could you possibly...expect it to make?"

Jess' lips part as he grabs the bottle again and takes another long pull. She pads across the wood again, slips the bottle from his loosened fingers, which he doesn't fuss about, sets it on the counter behind him, slides her arms around his waist, and looks up at him with a serene reservation in her eyes, and speaks with a soft, shaky voice.

"Because there are still people who care about you. People who are alive, because apparently that's such a big deal. Like me. Like Meg. And Cas, and Charlie, and Ellen and Jody, and Jo. Hell, Michael and Lucifer and Anna and Hannah care...Sam, look at me. Look. At. Me," She grabs his cheeks between her thumb and index finger and forces him to look back up at her. "Don't we matter to you? At all?"

Her question is broken and concerned and Sam can't take it and his lip wobbles and the tears don't threaten him for very long before toppling over onto his cheeks and he cries in the worst way, with his teeth gritted and his eyebrows pulled in almost painfully and his eyes squinting and unable to see past the salty liquid that's made a home in front of them and his back shaking and his hands clutching at Jess's t-shirt so tightly he believes they may fall off his arms. And the tears tumble down his skin so mercilessly and uncontrollably, and loud gasps work their way forcefully from his lips and he can't even fucking stand anymore.

And Jess is shushing him and sweeping the tears away with her thumb and brushing her fingers through his hair and basically carrying him to his bed room.

She peels back the comforter and lets him fall against the bed, pulling the blanket back up and kissing his forehead and letting a single tear rush down her cheek.

And she sniffles, wipes her face, and leaves without saying goodbye, pushing the door shut with a silent click.

And, after staring at the ceiling for two hours, unmoving, Sam finally dismisses himself from the waking world, drowning in his own tears.

******

Things are starting to look up for Sam Winchester.

He still drinks a little.

Still visits Gabe's grave - doesn't think he'll ever be able to stop doing that.

Still sleeps too much and doesn't eat enough and doesn't talk much to anyone at all. Still shuts people and emotions out and stares at the wall or the telly or out the window without really seeing a single thing.

Still works blindly, mechanically and habitually through his days, and some days are worse than others and on those days he can barely even stand to wake up, much less move at all.

But things are getting better.

Cas and Jess have coaxed him into counseling and Dean constantly takes him to cheap restaurants and bars, pointedly avoiding the bars with stippers or pole dancers or a dance floor. Meg has never been more lenient about him even coming to work at all, and at first, he was missing more often than not, but at some point, he realised only even knowing he has the ability to not be there is quite enough and started showing up most of the time.

He continues to play the guitar, to sing and write music. Graduates from Stanford with a doctorate degree in Law and - though very hesitantly - shows up at the party after the graduation ceremony that his friends throw for him.

He constantly goes through Polaroids and watches videos of he and Gabe or just Gabe and eventually learns to smile.

Reads the the letter over and over again, at least two hundred times, before finding the notebook it was ripped out of and finding at least a hundred other letters to him and reading those, too.

Every single one of them.

And things are looking up for Sam Winchester.

******

They take him to dinner. All of them.

Meg with Charlie, as they cling to eachother and Sam smiles beneath his breath because they make an adorable couple - a genuine smile, which hasn't happened in nearly a year. The entire year that's passed Sam by since Gabe died.

And Jess has befriended Jo so easily and they cling to eachother as much as Charlie and Meg, just in a different context. And Ellen and Jody are there too, speaking loudly across the table to Pamela and Bobby.

And of course, Cas has made it. He always does.

And he's been there for Sam over the past year more than Sam expected and Sam doesn't know why, but when Cas smiles, his entire world lights up again, like it did with Gabe.

Maybe because Cas is just like Gabe, carries the remnants of the boy's older brother in his eyes and his smile and in the way he walks and speaks and moves and dances and laughs and breathes.

And Sam's come to love Cas. Not in the way he loved Gabe, just...well, he doesn't know. But he's grateful to have the dark-haired weirdo around because the dark-haired weirdo makes everything a lot less horrible.

The chatter of the room is boisterous and acquittingly careful and loving, and the voices mostly consist of the people Sam sits with. And he's not even embarrassed.

Of course, he's tuned most of it out, concentrating on the still photo nestled comfortably in his palm.

Cas taps his shoulder suddenly and offers a sheepish smile when Sam jumps, startled.

"Can we talk?" He whispers, and his voice is quiet, but somehow rises above the rest, melodic and independent.

"Of course," Sam nods and they excuse themselves from the table for a moment, ignoring the apparently knowing glances Meg and Charlie give eachother.

They walk back toward the hallway to the bathrooms and lean against the wall at the end of the corridor.

Cas seems to be unable to look up and his cheeks are painted a bright red, and Sam smirks at this.

"Sam, I have to be honest...I've liked you for a while now...probably since I met you and...I just know I was really jealous that Gabe got to have you...happy for him. But jealous. And...I don't want you to be with me because I remind you of him...or because I'm technically part of him, I literally have his DNA streaming through my body. We did come from the same two people, after all. And I don't want you to be with me because you feel sorry for me or because you think I feel sorry for you. But..." The words come in such a rush and Sam's eyebrows are in his hairline and he can't think right now, because...just...

"What?" His voice is so quiet and vehemently surprised by Cas' announcement and he doesn't know what else to say. And he kind of regrets saying what he did when he watches Cas's head sink and the stars in his eyes fade.

"Sorry," the shorter man's voice is a lot quieter now, seemingly exhausted. "I...that wasn't...called for...I'm so sorry. That was disrespectful and terrible. Gabe's gone and you loved _him_  and I'm so sorry, I just shouldn't have said anything in the first place--"

"Hey, no. Cas. It's..." Sam laughs breathily, standing awkwardly, not really knowing what to say or how to say it. "It's fine. I..."

He tries to continue but he just shakes his head and leans down and kisses Cas' pink, heated cheek.

"Thank you," Sam tries finally, an obscene grin dominating his face. "Thank you for telling me. And...and I think...I think for now we should just be friends. For now. But...Cas, it's not like..." He scratches the back of his neck, not sure if he should admit his feelings about this entire thing. He shrugs and continues without thinking about it. "It's not like I haven't thought about it...about you...and us. I mean...I mean I kind of want to see where it goes...but at the same time, you _are_  a lot like Gabe and I don't want you feeling like I'm taking advantage of that, ya know?"

Cas bites his lip and smiles, nodding, obviously quite understanding.

"Look, you're smart...obviously. In that really, actually kind of cute, awkward, quiet way. And you're adorable. And I want to see where we go with this. I really do," Sam leans down again, this time, to gather Cas into a gentle hug. "Just not yet. Okay? I just...I need time. And I need to be able to...not get over Gabe, or forget him, necessarily. Just. I need to be able to move on in my own ways. And...when I do...I think we could be something else..."

Sam can hear the surprise on Cas' face and he smiles into the man's dark blue sweater.

He pulls away and looks Cas in the eyes, still grinning. Still just now realising that maybe he does like Cas in a way he...maybe shouldn't. Just because Cas is the younger brother of the one man Sam was ever sure he truly loved.

Still loves.

"Sound okay?" Sam asks and Cas nods shyly, and they hug again, and Sam kisses his cheek again, and Cas blushes so strongly, and Sam laughs.

And they make their way back to the table and rejoin the conversations.

And Sam thinks that...maybe not all goodbyes are forever.

Maybe he doesn't have to let go of the those little things.

And he doesn't.

_Don't let go._

_I never did._

Sam smiles into his lap at the picture of he and Gabe, standing in front of the indigo waves of the Indian Ocean with their fingers intertwined. And Gabe smiles back.


End file.
